I exist. It’s sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you’d think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me - and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever shall I have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.
My thought is me: that’s why I can’t stop. I exist because I think … and I can’t stop myself from thinking. At this very moment - it’s frightful - if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing.