It’s always raining here before nighttime. As if it’s telling restless souls to slow down. And listen to some old fashioned music not yet available on Spotify. Or just stare at the passing of clouds until sunset while listening to natural sound of the province. Or remember all the things that happened the past years and decades. The shitty and the joyful. The unforgettable and the lamentable. The history of smiles or the significance of scars. Some melodramatic carelessness and misplaced bravado. Just like this post and other pseudo sensible musings. The imagined liberty of existence. A blurry line between being and nothingness.
[text and photo by: Dima]