time
Will we meet again someday? I’d love to. Even if it’s in like 5 years. I don’t mind the time, it’s always passing anyway.
…he said.
He smiled understandingly…
– much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced – or seemed to face – the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.
The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald
untitled
He rushed to his pocket, took out his lighter and gave it to me. I am good, aren’t I? I remembered right away. I giggled, pretty surprised a guy like him didn’t light my cigarette, but mostly pretty amused by his boyish gestures, yet he is older and so much wiser than I am.
I stopped in the middle of the street. It was almost raining.
It is almost dark. It is almost bright, I said in a calm manner.
He stopped a few steps later and looked at me. He laughed.
There was a time in Roskilde, many years ago… Dark clouds surrounded us and it was about to rain. Everything that was green looked intensely green. The color was indescribable.
My mother is just like you. She paints, you know, and goes on and on about the light…and forces me to go out in the woods with her, only because of the light.
beyond heavenly
the wine of life,
well, it tastes heavenly,
as long as you keep taking these short cuts,
passing everything you might feel,
and laughing your way out of your
dreams.
you create your own palette
and choose the colors
carefully,
as you stumble towards
the shades made by destiny,
at least in the moments you believe in
the existence of its
appearance.
then again,
you stop
and find yourself
looking down the cliff,
on the top of the hill,
waiting for the storm.
…because it is the storm,
after all,
you are seeking.
…because it is the storm,
after all,
that makes your wine
taste beyond heavenly.
define: misunderstood
I always get misunderstood because I misunderstand myself.
That is the pattern of my life.
My little fairy got married
Well, yeah…she said, as in of course I want to marry him, that’s why I’m here. Everybody laughed. She was so beautiful and he was so handsome.
I remember, we were on a plane from Trondheim to Oslo a few years ago and I said I can tell, you belong together. We giggled like teenage girls. I had never met him before. They had not even started dating.
He fell in love with her the night she sat drunk by the window, smoking and singing a song from Bergen on the phone. He lived in London at the time.
She described me as an artistic soul who has a big heart and a great interest in photography, fashion and literature on the introduction of their guest. I do have a big heart, I have a big heart for her, as she is among a few people who have left remarkable traces in my life. And my personality. The thing is, she is a type of person everyone has a great story to tell about. Everything she does, she does straight from her soul; she tells you nothing but the truth and cries with you when the truth is hurtful and then, like a fairy, she mends your heart when it is broken into thousand pieces.
This must be true happiness! she yelled and laughed right after the ceremony. And yet again, everybody laughed. She spreads happiness wherever she goes and deserves all the happiness in the world.
summer nights
I love summer nights.
summer days are too exhausting.
generally I like nights more than days…
unknown photographer
