Lost in translation. Or maybe lost in transformation, unsure whether it's just about meaning that failed to find its way into words, due to the late hours and ones own limitations and shortcomings. Uncounted, unmeasured minutes spent gazing out at the dark night and its sky, at the different warm, bright, coloured, in some case blinking lights the neighbours wrapped around their balconies and terraces. Trembling even in warm rooms, not good at getting clothes right or perhaps just too sleepy for that. Slightly familiar silhouettes hurrying home from the bus, suggesting the breeze remained strong and cold for now. Retreating, disconnecting, nosetip meditation waiting for temporary dreams to take control. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.

#outerworld #concrete city #the late hours #where we are we are #stories of lights and illusions