the cigarette leaves a scratching feeling, it tasted so bad.
slowly i crush the cigarette in the ashetray and pour some wine to kill the scratching feeling. the wine tastes sweet, almost as sweet like grapes. they always had good wine here. it gently pulls a veil of floating swiftness over you, there you hang in the balance, there you are in limbo.

there is fog in the backyard and swathes of thoughts waft through the old apple trees.

it is as if life swirls my soul around like the wind plays with harvest leaves, falling down, but slowly, slowly, hesitating, unsettled and precarious as where to let them fall down. they will fall softly, softly, and they will hardly know that they finally touched ground. but i know how it will feel like. they will exit the world of movement, of life, they will be pinned to the ground by rain, tightened to the wet, dark earth by the very force of gravity. there will be no movement, stillness, quietness, thats when everything else ceases to be and you feel your own weight and it s death, death, no breathing, no floating, no hurting, only deep deep heaviness, undecipherableness. there won't be any measures anymore to measure pain, happiness, feelings, thoughts, everything will be pinned down to one point and perspectives will vanish into the thin grey november evenings

once i heard somebody say that the only force that powers down gravity is love.

love.

love.

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale


inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

inhale
exhale

I leave some wine in the glass. Just in case.