“I can’t see anything”, I said. “Neither can I,” you told me tenderly to appease my fear, although I was mostly excited, not scared. I squeezed your hand in joy. Your hand was wet and sweaty and I realized that finally the universe conspired to leave us all alone on earth. You let go of my hand and turned my way. Your sigh was soft and tender. I fell all over you, as if a huge invisible magnet pulled me to your side. That was a long and tender kiss, a prologue to a lifetime of togetherness. The fog dissolved in a few minutes, as you took my hand and held it gently into yours under the bright sunlight. We moved on without uttering a word.
Now they can’t see. Now they’re two figures, trapped in a foggy forest, trapped in their thoughts. People have thoughts. They touch, then take their distance and touch again. One wrong step and I’ll bite. My bite is poisonous, yet unintended. For snakes don’t think. Snakes do not write stories inspired by Tool’s songs. Snakes only wish to not be disturbed.