Here, at the glass
Standing on the border of this lifeless time
Memories flush out as cold water in a mountain spring
Wreked in this unnamed land, I simply stand.
Still, I can hear those voices wisphering false promises
Still I can sense those dimensions once I was in
Where the time was the ruler,
And both the beginning and the end were the gift.
For they were the brackets enclosing the possibilities of my time.
Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths.