This is how it starts
There is too much good in the air, too many prayers to be answered. These stones will never be warm again and this grass shall never grow. How is it that pain transports through heartbeats to your whole body within seconds? And how is it that prayers be misunderstood?
These are the skies as they lay tonight. And these are the scars as they unfold themselves. [exposed].
Space made of wood and stone. His face made of white gold. And the time of rainy eyes and gloomy winds carried so much sadness and hope, so much hurt and regret. When does this all end? When do we wake up? How does it stop? Light up a cigarette and let it all out. Hold me before I fall and break? If I do fall, how are you supposed to collect me? Every goosebump on my skin misses you. Just go on and keep on doing what you are doing. Throw rocks and gather some wood till I arrive. The pond is full by now and the forest is a desert. I am full by now. We dive deep and rewind and undo what we’ve done and what we’ve become.
Photo: A memory and a thought. Taken behind MACBA. July 2014