Starving. Dehydrated. Hallusinations. I imagine I can still smell smoke from the last remains of my (former) island of innocense. I pull a splinter from the planks of my wooden raft. I place it between my sun-dried, sea-salted and cracked lips. I light the prospective relief with the burning hot sun. I imagine pulling the smoke deep into my lungs. Salvation is only in my mind. However, isnt that where we are (all) responsible for creating the life we desire, anyway? In our minds?
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