Mornings like this,
smoking coffee, faded cigarettes, steamy windows. You wake up with a smile painted on your face if you think that home is not a place, it is an idea. And it is ideas that move our days, like water in the river.
I am not sure what I will do with my day, with my year, with my hoar – but it is not that bad to change your mind like the wind. And it will end this way, you wake up painter and go to bed scientist. You do not even realize that the arrival is the race because you are focused on the finish line, but you miss the flow of life in the meantime. And your breath may turn wheezy, and your legs may feel heavy, but this is the juice we long for, this is what makes us human – and it does not matter if you arrive first of thirteenth.
Mornings like this, a race and all that is inbetween.