3.1

I dream of still sleepy morning. Perfect morning. Yet adrenalin dogs are still following me. And that eternal sun in the eyes. I remember it would feel like that in some days of my childhood. Little steps towards the undiscovered hope.
Unknown people find me. Again. Out of the feeling. Out of the eternal silence.

And the feeling is as if the dream is coming true. As if it was the last temptation of Judas. That this is for real and that the skin discovered the perfect sound of touching.

Everything is as if it was perfect.
Because I don't even remember that much. Everything passes. Dissolves faster than the clouds on the surface of the still water.

But the feeling is still there. The knowing that everything is continues. And I feel. And we do. And the knowing knits the knot.

To be continued.
Because the emotion remembers the silence. And the sun on the same surface of the same water.

We repeat the mantra. Second person in the reality que. Spinning city in someone elses palms. I open my eyes and can feel the sunlight. We remain friends. Like watching Formula One race cars moving at 30 km an hour. I open my eyes and the world is still here. Faster if you would think of rain.
Picture perfect loneliness.
Picture perfect. All three of them. Only one by one. For now. For a while. Because nothing goes. Nothing goes by. Nothing.
Because numbers that goes after comma are always (not) perfectly pictures a big maybe next to the peaceful knowing. Your and mine. And for me.