the deepest dreams of men and women will bring them either together or take them apart.
dreams decide all.
there is no choice about dreams , none about feeling.
there is no choice for flowers nor for stones.
the mind creates time,
lives with the illusion of free will, fights what it cannot fight: death, life, even love.
there is not the one word which will bring change.
there is a silence to let go,
to sink, to fly.
the melancholy of journeys is that we know that we may arrive at the point where we left and that this kind of home always accompanies us, so hard to
forget.
what is real? sun, rain, soil, moving, scent, voice, touch?
or dream? sleep?
does it matter?
Von meinem iPhone gesendet
