Life gives us many things.
At the same time, it robs us of many things.
We can’t take those back. We just miss them.
As J’s aunt, we will find our dying bed at the corner of the earth somewhere.
What will we carry then? What will we chew on when the death won’t come easily? Remorse will be the one word I will hate then.
I just miss the little girl of me. As you miss a Daisy of a girl in you so much.
Soon she will be eaten by a giant wolf.
In a day, the wolf will throw up a ball of hair.
Let her fly.
Couples and a cluster.
A man and a woman. A man and woman. A man and woman. A man and a woman. A man and a woman. Men and women.
Old. Old. Middle-aged. Old. Middle-aged. Young.
Any seat I want to replace my solitary seat?
“Deep-rooted Handstand (Lithograph, 1953)” by Edgar Ende (1901-1965)
Just too tired. Too tired. Even my sleep is weary.
People walk upside down in my dreams.
Endless rain or the dessert.
Ah, the Sun!
It’s not you. It’s not me. It’s just chemistry.
Sometimes even an angel cannot get along with me. And I can play along fine with the devils.