Now me and musicplay hide and seek.

Music itself has taught me never to underestimate a mistake, for, in the midst of all, it’s often in that mistake where the realm of the unexpected creation is hidden.

Trust isn’t something you can just one day decide to have. Trust cannot be fabricated out of thin air, no matter how one’s will is set to it. Trust has to be earned. And there’s the tragedy of it, the dependence on the other, who is often not up for the challenge, poisoned as he is by the modern individualistic and time-is-money mindset. And thus trust is losing ground more and more until one day it will turn into something rare and obscure and this world has become a severly violent and lonely place, ruled by mistrust and disconnection.

To hide away from the world whose loveless heart has gone astrayand its inhabitants what could be a safer place than my imagination?

I cover the floor with a thin layer of imagination so that i’ll always land softly.

Such dreams provide this temporary illusion of a life that has meaning.

you’re ignoring me so loud that it’s deafening. This silence is so deep that it’s echoing.

the pavement makes no soundas it touches your feetcalm and constantlike silence on repeatlanguidly your thoughts bleedinto the evening airin crimson red the words read'some things are beyond repair

... listening to the silence together. If there’s any. I truly believe not so. I have never heard a silence. Have you? The world is filled with unspoken words. And that’s something different isn’t it.

To think that two bodies, crooked by life into question marks, when encountering one another did not form a heart.. To do that, all we needed was to look each other in the eye. But you looked away.

it’s miraculous how the shallow can injure in such a profound way.

I love it when there’s nothingLeft to see but tiny spots of what’s still lightStories piercing the night.

The skin of her face,parched by the monotonous dietof salty rain,with tremendous effortgave wayto a smile.

When I am awake, I sleep, but when I dream I come to life.

For the minority, what else is democracy than dictatorship?

oh, how bitterhow bitter silentthe bewildered sorrowof a texture too thickto be brought outthrough the eyes.

your facethrough the blurred visionof my disillusioned eyesmergeswith the rest of them.

There’s always books. And the wind through trees.

she tries to envision spaceeven with her eyes open

...ever plagued by the naive hope that this timemy intuition might be mistaken...

That throbbing thing in my chest can hardly be called a heart. It has been wrung out and deformed into something merely functional. Nothing can revive it.

and now i am back in the grey world where it tastes like plastic, the monotony is buzzing through my jaws and the boredom is pulling my hair.