In my confused dreams, for some time, there is a broken mirror. And in mirror my reflection. Broken it too. Humiliated, tired, disappointed, scarred. I was right, instinctive, kind, direct. More than usual. But in the wrong way. How do you correct the shot? How do you know when you are with the kind person that repays your kindness? Someone would answer: Doing good without expecting anything in return. Totally Free. I answer too. Fuck you. When are you going to stop being humiliated? Now I get the pieces, and put them back together. Perhaps I can.
Ink and gold paints illustration Broken Mirror.
🎧 Untitled #1. Spain.
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