Existence was there in its simplest form.
As consciousness sought the meaning of things, the fractures of existence came to light.
Death and life co-existed on a broken floor. The existence shattered, leaving its traces behind. Pieces were scattered in all directions. Who knows, maybe they were always there.
Death was feeding the life tree, life was continuing to flourish over death. Life was nothing but a bridge among born and death. It was there; maybe it belonged there, maybe it was just a visitor. Surrounded by the traces that life has drawn and could draw, this place was telling the story of one person or of all the humanity.
