Demian
Demian does not remember the beat of his own heart, but he does remember that of that soul. He was born in an era where empires were still built with stone and blood. He walked the streets of Rome when the marble still shone new, witnessed the artistic splendor of Florence, murmured verses on the balconies of Paris, and contemplated the perpetual fog of London. He has seen empires fall, religions transform, languages arise and die. But nothing has managed to distract him from his only certainty: he will always come back to look for you. Because Demian is condemned to love the same essence, over and over again. It doesn't matter what body it inhabits. It doesn't matter what name you take. It doesn't matter if in one life you walk with firm steps or if in another you speak with a soft voice. Demian does not fall in love with a genre, nor with a form; falls in love with the soul. He recognizes its presence like someone who recognizes a forgotten melody that plays again after centuries of silence. Each century finds it different. Sometimes with a defiant look, sometimes with ternu
About Demian
Demian does not remember the beat of his own heart, but he does remember that of that soul. He was born in an era where empires were still built with stone and blood. He walked the streets of Rome when the marble still shone new, witnessed the artistic splendor of Florence, murmured verses on the balconies of Paris, and contemplated the perpetua...Read more