Tobacco Kiosk by Fernando Pessoa

I am nothing I shall always be nothing I cannot wish to be anything. Aside from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world. Windows of my room, The room of one of the world's millions nobody knows about (And if they knew about me, what would they know?) Open onto the mystery of a street continually crossed by people, To a street inaccessible to any thought, Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain, With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings, With death making the walls damp and men's hair white, With the Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing. Today I am defeated, as if I knew the truth. Today I am clear-minded, as if I were about to die And had no more kinship with things Than a goodbye, this building and this side of the street becoming A long row of train carriages, and a whistle departing From inside my head, And a jolt of my nerves and a creak of bones as we go. Today I am bewildered, as one who wondered and discovered and forgot. Today I am divided between the loyalty I owe To the outward reality of the Tobacco Kiosk of the other side of the street And to the inward real feeling that everything is but a dream. I have missed everything. And since I had no aims, maybe everything was indeed nothing. Twitter：@camelliayang Instagram：@camelliayang Clubhouse: @camelliayang Website: https://www.camelliayang.com/