When the sun falls down I hear the sunlights through my windows. They hit ferociously asking for my attention. And when I do look at them they overwhelm me. Those moments everything around me stops moving. The clocks disappear and instead boxes with wheels stand silent on the walls. Time is obsolete. And everything dries and everything dies. And then suddenly everything altogether screams for attention I cannot give.
|everywhere I go,|
|everywhere I see.|
How could the dryness of the wind and the absence of time fit so good together? But what am I muttering about in the almost dark room? Can anybody hear my dry weak voice? It is getting quickly dark outside now too and one glance is not enough to absorb the warmth of the light.
|And I touch the ground,|
|with my bare hands,|
Suns are not for pleasure, are not for warmth. They are for tearing apart the dryness in our mouths, the one that is sticky and black. Do not look back, do not look away, look straight into the sun. Maybe then the dead leaves and stones on your table will start making some sense, under the darkness of your dry room.
|wishing for the moment to stay forever.|
Vicky Griva Photography ©