We probably need each other,
deity who watches over, protects, nourishes, and gives life.

We meet in Sogamoso,
because coming closer would be impossible.
We see each other from afar,
because touching would be dangerous.

Nothing is what it seems.
Its shape is an illusion born of light.
Its substance—is it substance?

To make contact is to distort my perception of reality,
to question my own existence.
Am I what I believe myself to be?

 

Vianney Méndez