lunanne

My face reflected in the dark window of the carriage while I looked outside, resting my head against the glass. It was winter; night fell early and it was raining. I just wanted to go home to my parents. I dislike winters; they always made me feel so morose and depressed, especially when it is not snowing, but when it snows, it turns into slush almost immediately. Outside it was completely dark, I saw only some street lights far away. I had no idea where I was on the long track, how long I had been on the train or how long it would be. It seemed to me that these details mattered little now. I liked the night, slowing life down to a crawl wh

Love is not fickly, not sweet and sticky. It runs deep and strong like a river, unstoppable and even when it has run dry. The traces stay, as grooves in the landscape. Still beautiful.