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 | 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.