Friday, July 04, 2008


(Chopin mood.)
It smells like flowers, wild flowers.
And I don’t know what I want.
But, as usual, I know what I don’t want.
I feel solitary. This didn’t change. It stayed the same.
Rock and… what am I?
I am water.
What kind of water? Salty? Sweet water? Sweet and salty water. Is that possible?
I’m a selfish water. Hidden in a summer night’s dream.
Showing Narcissus’ reflection.
Patience will be rewarded.
I’m looking for a book. A rare book...
I feel as dry as I was.