Thursday, 17 April 2014

Thrall.

You gave me back one of the greatest gifts: my language, my mother's tongue (risqué oedipal joke, in bad taste).

Up to the point in which I reinvented myself, yet once more. My atoms might have changed. My core (another word for "soul"?) not so much... at least, I didn't think so.

I'd say I became unleashed and chained at once, that I found my freedom, being in thraldom.

Well, no one is really free. Ain't certainly no free lunch for none. Though grammatically atrocious, it is factually impeccable.

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