The Empirical Rock

My assumption was that I had been ruined: — a rock under the fierce blows of storm after storm, one after another. My assumption was that I had been crushed, scattered beneath the steps of time, with its passing seconds — over me — without a glance at me. My assumption was that I, without hypothesis, without future, had gone mute, without the presence of words and shapes and letters in the text of “me.” Without the presence of an engraving pen with the figure of a heart or the word heart on the breast of “me.” My assumption was that this planet is a coffin that only carries my lifeless corpse around through cold, dark space, carries around my silent dead body. That was my assumption, until the murmurs of your wave in my womb ...