Alone with my thoughts. Insecurity, soft likeness to flower. Not enough time. Too much time. Anarchy of the seconds. So many wasted. Soft, beautiful, painless silence. So free. Quick it comes, fast it goes.

Clouds hanging over. Interesting. Talkative. Clouds in my eyes. Haze in my looks. Cotton worlds. I like the way they look now.

I am a grain of dust vanishing in winter. The wind mutters inside me, flows over my feet, holds them down, pierces my clothes. The wind is drawing curly figures on the surface of the water. Like a signature. Like an invitation for agile spirits. Infinitely vast. Splendid and blue.