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It’s as if it flies


Maybe it’s about time, maybe it’s about thoughts or just one haunting thought, tormenting each day, each night…

Maybe it’s nothing. But what if it’s everything?

You keep going back to that captive creature with its greedy appetite and to the white nights, and to those planks and the warm sun, to the weird singing bird and the castle, and the dark and the sounds and the silence and the depth and the several lives since you know everything and all and to the meaningless or meaningful talks and you wonder: Was it real? Was it just a dream? A reflection of your thoughts?

Maybe it was real. Or maybe it was only wishful thinking. Maybe you just lost yourself in thoughts and they came to life. Maybe it was just beauty circling your frozen senses.

Maybe you should turn your thoughts off. If you can.

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