I’ve been down in the abyss for too long on a nineteenth century armchair to think the abstract. I left my shape on it, but no image. Tears cold as ice freezed my eyes that didn’t see the painting on the walls, nor who was close to me, and didn’t leave a shape, but an image. Kronos. It’s time to know I’ve been enemy of the time, to think the abstract. Kronos. It’s time to go. It’s time to look from above, In the abyss to see cold tears’ ice dissolved and became a calm sea. In the abyss to remember when I left I shape, but no image, no image.