2 minutes read | 4 hours work

She knew she would not even write a comma, because she mainly came there to perceive the atmosphere, scents and energy of the fashion world and to let it all flow through her whole body and mind. She wanted to remember it. As long as possible. It was supposed to be a beautiful moment. It was supposed to last as long as the beautiful moment was supposed to last. Every beautiful moment has its own watch and its own timer. Hemingway said. His Rolex Oyster Perpetual quietly counted 20:29.

2 minute read | 2 hours work

Never again will one of those days return. As I slept on an air mattress, surrounded by cardboard boxes full of clothes, spread out around me. Because that was what I had left. What life gave me and what it wanted to give. Large windows without curtains. Like eyes staring into my frightened soul. An empty unwritten and unfinished book. A book without a story or an end.

2 minute read | 4 hours work

dragging heavy bottles from a small store. Alternatively, they carried them empty again into sorted waste. An endless and tiring cycle. As a single woman, a woman who does not have or know anyone who could possibly bring such heavy bottles from the store, I welcomed Soda Now with open arms.

2 minute read | 2 hours work

This life is about racing with the wind. Who will run faster? Me or the wind. Whether the storm takes me with and devastates with me what comes in its way, destroys entire forests, breaks the trees, so they fall so helplessly to the ground. And never again, no one and nothing can put them back, whether it’s just a breeze who plays with my hair. And he tells me to go. To run.

2 minue read | 2 hours work

I imagine that women have their fingers stabbed and they carry a foxglove to the store, because since so much sewing, foxgloves have almost grown to their fingers and they travel with them in public transport and maybe go home with it and cook dinner with it. Until one of the sons finds a silver foxglove in the vegetable soup instead of the piece of carrot.

3 minutes read | 4 hours work

How much does blogging cost? Nothing. At the beginning. Until you look around. Until you realize everything. Until you get writing into your fingers. Until you find your style. Until you find the right angle when taking pictures. Until you stop being ashamed to pose. Until you stop feeling embarrassed at the events and in front of family and friends. Until you are not afraid to skip your shadow.

2 minutes read | 3 hours work

I drink coffee and slowly finish my last cigarette in my life. Perhaps. Because I still have an emergency one in the work drawer. In case – if something happens. In my head I write a farewell post that I will never send to anyone. Because there were cigarettes with me. They were bored with me, cried, listened to my favorite songs, danced with me more than one night at my flat, they tasted the best after dinner and sex, that they just burned out in the ashtray and they disappeared in loneliness, that I spent a pleasant break with my colleagues, that wine somewhere on the terrace tasted a little more, that the people hated me for the cigarette smoke around me, that they looked at me crookedly, gossiped about me that I stink to someone, that they were here with me, in good and in bad.