That river without end

Between my sleeping and dreaming,
Between me and the one in me
Who I suppose I am,
A river flows without end.

In its meandering journeys,
Such as all rivers make,
It passed by other, different
Shores in far-off places.

It arrived at where I now live,
At the house that I am today.
If I dwell on myself, it passes;
If I wake up, it already went by.

And the one I feel I am, who dies
In what links me to myself,
Sleeps where the river flows
That river without end.

(Fernando Pessoa)

EF-L zoom lens.

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