I finished the final episode of Damo last night. It was late, and silent. I sat long by the open window, listening to the fog and weltzschmerz.
Eventually, I sighed, gathered myself back to the mundane, and went to bed.
Deep impressions to the maum are not so easily shaken, however. In my dream, a love long lost to me in waking life was lost again, to death. Or was it to uncertainty?
I asked an acquaintance for news, but he had none.
If we meet again, I said, and I don’t ask, tell me nothing.