Again, words start bugging me. For a while it stopped and was quite. That well known surrounding silence …

You see, the desert has its advantages; and monotony is too a sight of silence, right? But that prayer resurfaced them again. “If you can’t speak, then write. Anything, just write…

From everything just one word has the power to heal, to speak up the truth without the pain. Sea shore - the place, the one you can return to and rest after all the battles you had been encounter. Even though you didn’t win them all, the peace behind every battle knows when and where to come. Until that time will come…it’s still a while. So they say that there’s a hate time and a loving one, a time for building up and another for demolishment, a time for war and a time for peace. To me for sure the peacefull one hasn’t come yet…

“Do you know love?” No, I don’t know how to love. That lesson I have never learned it truthfully, the one I say it from time to time, optional, by free will, the one I always loose the essence of it. Against all my memories that resurface obsessive and sometimes I feel them so painful in my gut.

Then again I go deep into my world, from here, my words fly sometimes, they crumble, organizing over the monitor piles and piles of words…the trip to the sea, the endless ups, the gypsy…all of them are bad.

“Why there is so much un-fulfillment?” Maybe that’s my faith to end this life, unhappy. There are so many ways (roads) unclosed in me! A dark labyrinth into which my uneasiness to live is pooled and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out to the light. Someone told me once: in order to succeed I must accept (admit)…curious, isn’t it?

This tightness I’m in right now, the fatal combination of pride and hurt, the circle that I’m content with - amazes me. I’m Looking back in time and wish I didn’t understand so much - for not accepting any compromises. I tied my hands with the uneasiness of not making the inside gap deeper, and I stopped on the spot being afraid of the first step on a mine field. Who am I? Who are you (all) to know my weaknesses? Who’s marking down my dreams? Who could control your hope? Or my life? Who can darken the sunrise? No one… except me when I lock the doors with a whisky bottle and two bottles of pink pills.

You see, that light exist! It’s real but so fragile. It’s so easy to kill it, it’s enough just a window’ blinds in its way and…

That night I wanted to tell you more, I had the feeling of logging for you, I wanted to embrace you complete and forever, to accept you in my arms, resting on my chest… But the wind froze my words and my movements then you left, I counted the seconds, the minutes waiting for your sign, your call. I was staring at the phone screen telling myself that you’ll call: “no matter what, come, I’m waiting for you”. It never happened.

Then again the words stated to overwhelm me. They are so many, so noisy, they bring with them the sea air, the tides and the salty sand. For a while it stopped and was quite…

I always dream of a new winter morning, that didn’t start yet, with lots of snow and mist. A surreal white landscape surrounded by tall mountains. This year it snowed a lot, again it covered the walls up to the windows and the wood gets dry so slow… If it keeps snowing like this, the roof will fell again and it was done just over last summer. It’s so new that in the house when you turn on the fire it smells of green wood, it’s like the summer didn’t past yet. The benches need to be changed. From all the vivid colors they had when I brought them on my shoulder from the market what’s left is only this dark slow red. The wool’s got thorned out here and there it isn’t soft no more. It’s hard when I lie down in front of the fire. The time for a change in life has come!

There are two things I love the most: the snowy morning when I get out bear head, without a hat on, without thoughts, and the night’s silence beside the fire with my cheeks - hot and my back cold.

The fire and the words… Here, even now, time unfold itself like a woman’s hair that is breaded too loose and slides without a stop round and around, foreword and back, past and present, it’s messing up without me getting scared. Look how the limits has disappeared, probably (maybe) that’s the way it is over there too; (second’s machine)the clock was invented only when people lost the measure of what they were for real and what they lost.

And again, words start bugging me. I told you so, for a while it stopped and was quite. That surrounding silence and sleepiness which you know it all so well…