wow -this morning ☆☆☆☆ fiksss

Last morning

Was something so spesial

When the sun shone through the window

This morning 

Being something else

Clicking open the locks in the house

And in my heart

Immersed in the houses covered with colourful paints and licks of sun

This morning (was) like a cup of gold

Like a string of light

A sweet peice of chocolate on my tonuge

This morning 

With the light light blue shine of the ocean

Under white snowy mountains 

And a sandwhich in my hand with melted cheese and ham

And the smell of chimney, like the smell of home

And that one house molded that the fire had licked up, that house that looked like death, that house that had been stolen

But maybe not stolen, maybe just taken.

Something less charged with feeling

Instead just simple, just something that is, something that goes, that is a part of the whole: cherry trees and stars and tears

All that comes and goes

And I will be taken someday, like we all

And I think it makes me scared but I also hope it is like drifting of when you are really tired, feeling that sweet drunk of sleep

Or when you are really small falling asleep in the back of the car and being carried home

and I hope death is like a warm soft bed with newly washed sheets, that smell of being taken care of

(And maybe I will feel at the end that what a precious thing i lived through)

And that I will appriciate this beauty 

We have not existed before and we will seace to exist again, what is so scary about it then?

It is like a friends home, somewhat a familiar place, like a place you walk by every once in a while: a field, a big tree, a summerhouse ...

And isnt that beautiful then, if this is all we have, this tiny gap, this interloop of time

This one colourful movement in a pocket of black

This one mark on the line, this one star on the map/in this sky, this one breath of blue

Ekstra, ikke med:

(To live, to feel, to experience all the beauty that soflty burns within

Like blood in your chest

Interstiched between a billion years of non-existence

How frightening, and how absurd, and oh so precious/special

This lung of life sandwhiched between a nothing and another nothing

How beautiful and strange

Like planets on a thread)

We all are nothing till we meet that one point of raining glass then nothing agian

Over to the next people or person 

(It is the feeling of a hug

Or a mystery)

(Everything is fuel for the artist

For art is made from living, and living is what artists need to do!)