Today, I don’t really feel like recapturing how everything I did and said did or did not shape me in any way, made me feel better or worse, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. So basically, what I feel like doing is share a little piece I wrote about a year ago. Those not interested in any kind of literature can, if they want, just stop reading knowing that I’m okay. For everbody else, this is the beginning of a piece called “Cry”:
“Curiously, it had been raining all night yesterday and at one particular moment in time, a period of about ten minutes or longer it seemed, bolts of lightning, thunder and still misty rain joined forces to one giant grey-cloudy mass hanging threateningly over the city, sudden rays of electricity jolting inside the roaring, soaring vapour. It must have been the very first time that I realised how the closeness to the sky that my roof-top flat provided me with, an inconvenient position, elevated me to a zenith as if presented on a silver platter to whatever it was that chose a thunderstorm as foreboding. Once I had opened the window it occurred to me, that impossible oddity that the airy aura of the city would, shortly before it started to rain, exude the most exquisite, yet most massively heavy warmth. In a distance I could see the thick blurry grey approach slowly, steadily towards where I was. It felt like the idea one has of romantic; a gloomy setting mirroring a heart-felt sickness, a weighty mood that might have been caused by the uninviting weather, that might have caused it.”
