No one listens to me. Why?
When her hand comes touching me, it goes through me, and there I am, looking from afar, wondering, how did I get here, and why on earth no one can hear me.
Then, I wonder and wonder, from room to room, opening each and every door, inquiring about people's lives, wondering, why they do not see me.
Please, I begged her, please talk to me, but she insisted to stay quite, not letting me in.
I scream I shout, and I hear something in return. I get excited, but all it is, is just an Echo of my own voice.
No one listens to me.
Invisible world, Rene Magritte (1954)
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