From that moment
An egg is just like a container, with a shell that keeps and protects but it also separates and hides its interior. A paper egg, because it’s fragile, delicate and thin, but yet rich of folds and wrinkles of its time. Something that has yet to open up, but it is already living, breathing, thinking, suffering. Something closed in the midst of a storm. It’s look like the prelude of an explosion, or a slowly crumbling.
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