Opening
We do not remember when it first began. Is it the beginning of our endless curiosity towards the intangible or the sorrow feeling in the heart.
Those endless dreams that do not end but contrarily continue. Not that we should complain, but perhaps it might be one of many things that intrigue our curious souls.
Why is it so easy to say the wrong things, when we simply could be in silence for once and think things through without anyone needing to sacrifice themself.
The beginning of “The black and white” and “End of the chaos”. It appears to never end. As if everything is going by a plan.
Everyday, every month, every year - I find myself cough by the mesmerizing beauty of the little things that are surrounding me.
The red riding hood. The character from the stories that are told to us when we are little. That is what is sticking to me in a sense of colorfulness.
Charismatic, sensitive, creative, emphatic, loving - for now. Beeing to narrow means less intrigue, being to much of a selfless person means your to orientated only on yourself. And because of it we never truly find it. The one and only feeling or concrete form.
Do we remember that owl’s hoot on the silent night and that fierce breathing caused by the suden switch of our innermind? The aerie thought of diving is "the swith".
