three two five

good morning. soft light enters my room through the window making it seem like it’s summertime. I couldn’t sleep last night. I talked to a couple of people in different parts of the world wishing we shared the same air. instead of manic writing, I wanted to talk to them. but I couldn’t. I fell asleep shortly five in the morning only to be awoken by my mother’s laughter a few hours later. I fell back asleep instantly, but I kept smiling with my eyes closed. last night was spent at SoHo, in one of the hidden streets, where the surroundings remain as unknown as ever, no matter how many hours I spend there. it’s my favorite neighborhood. it has a character, a soul. the evening turns out to be even more magic when a special friend sits by your side.

for the first time, I shared my writing with someone who barely knew anything about it. but it felt deliberating, free. I was comfortable in my own skin, with the sound of rustling paper. it was almost as if I set my own thoughts out in the open, they were flying around, creating shadows, which didn’t disappear even when the lights faded away. the only thing that is missing now is a form of an actual, constructive feedback. any kind of reaction, which would help me in letting go of the dream. or maybe push me a little forward. sometimes I just need that.