I feel
somewhere inside that I want
to plant an apple tree before I turn 26.
This is the night before I have my 26th birthday.
The moon is it’s biggest and yellowish.
It is quiet in my house and I hear nothing from the streets.
I have no apple-tree. It is Sunday. Shop is closed.
The struggle inside has gone eased (though the last months) while being in economic safety
in a warm room, with a loving person along and some crazy minds to collaborate together with
and time to sort it out – the panic from universe, the everyday tiny
catastrophes of mixed impressions, the que of questions.
The brain stopped playing and started an autopilot-life with
calculating money in pockets under the wooden floor and being
stuck in work and pressed down while trying to save life
taking deep breaths but the tempo is too high. Way too high.
And the air too polluted. Some damaging years passed, that gave life the taste of far more bitterness
than I expected or thought was possible. However now I'm just here. With a
soul full of questions, more questions than ever. I have to use
these hours because even if dad tells me not to think too much –
we will never find something out anyways, he says - I have to think some.
Otherwise I cannot go. And going is so necessary. Staircase of thinking.
I have no apple-tree to plant. Before my step to 26. I want to grow old
knowing I planted something. More than just looking in the mirror
making my hair and all this selfie things.
somewhere inside that I want
to plant an apple tree before I turn 26.
This is the night before I have my 26th birthday.
The moon is it’s biggest and yellowish.
It is quiet in my house and I hear nothing from the streets.
I have no apple-tree. It is Sunday. Shop is closed.
The struggle inside has gone eased (though the last months) while being in economic safety
in a warm room, with a loving person along and some crazy minds to collaborate together with
and time to sort it out – the panic from universe, the everyday tiny
catastrophes of mixed impressions, the que of questions.
The brain stopped playing and started an autopilot-life with
calculating money in pockets under the wooden floor and being
stuck in work and pressed down while trying to save life
taking deep breaths but the tempo is too high. Way too high.
And the air too polluted. Some damaging years passed, that gave life the taste of far more bitterness
than I expected or thought was possible. However now I'm just here. With a
soul full of questions, more questions than ever. I have to use
these hours because even if dad tells me not to think too much –
we will never find something out anyways, he says - I have to think some.
Otherwise I cannot go. And going is so necessary. Staircase of thinking.
I have no apple-tree to plant. Before my step to 26. I want to grow old
knowing I planted something. More than just looking in the mirror
making my hair and all this selfie things.
I’ve got
soil.
And a bunch of apples.
I’ll eat one now and plant the seeds. Tonight in the light from moon.
And a bunch of apples.
I’ll eat one now and plant the seeds. Tonight in the light from moon.
