Perhaps Kappa was not ready. Maybe it was not time. Inside the caves, in the corridors of thought anger and grief were unconscious. Maybe it was not time. Maybe we still
wait for the meeting with those ghosts remote Kappa, tired but almost new, waited and waited for at least 3032 years. Perhaps the groups, the agglomeration of human and subhuman nomad fragile and could not receive more than in the course of a lifetime had already received. Perhaps in
slow walks of nuns, in their eyes lost sheep without shepherds, not wanting too much play in the children, not in the ranks of the hungry, there was palpable truth, but difficult to bring to light.
Perhaps the tension of one, two, a thousand trips to the response to that move while remaining seated. Perhaps
Kappa, no tears, he heard the inaudible, as the invisible, touch the untouchable, if only he had not heard his feet as marble invaded by ants. Kappa
Maybe he had too many "maybe" as empty excuses to immobility. Perhaps
Kappa was red with shame. Maybe it was the shame of the past. Maybe too
Kappa weighed again. Perhaps
Kappa weighed too much. Perhaps
Kappa weighed. Perhaps
Kappa.
Maybe.
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