Life, that narrative that is made in books. How children play I guess. In the guess of imagining you. I just know with the certainty of the body. In such a fantasy where no word is articulated. I missed you so great, so great that I did not know my reality at every moment. It captures me as being my next future, my tomorrow. Since it is present in every moment it ends.
Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.