(Too: The surprising endeavour of listening to ones inner monologues while mind and body are idle. Somewhere in between unsolved daily challenges, weird anxieties of all flavours, fantasies same as weird, and a transforming subtext hard to understand. Moving on as a strategy to avoid this kind of exposure. Trained to feel guilty in idle mode.)
Almost 10am again. Moving around dishes and furniture. Collecting laundry. Chores in a mechanic mode, somewhere in between feverish activity to confront the shortcomings of ones own closer surroundings - and the desire to just leave for the garden now. Decisions decisions.
Too, fading daylight makes dirt on windowpanes disappear for a while, grants several other shortcomings in a dusty old flat with the mercy of temporary invisibility. Stories of keeping things in order one doesn't want to run into while returning.
Very much later. Cleaned up again. Bottles emptied, the last candies gone, lights dimmed. There's a party somewhere in the backyards but it's only about hearing chatter and glasses and drums, while the people to celebrate remain hidden somewhere between bushes and trees. No fires for now. But a wide open black sky bearing all the stars one could imagine and more. And sometimes at night it's there again, that weird childhood mood of speechless silence looking at this vast endless void in between here and there and distances not even imaginable, let alone being able to travel them. Grounded in between firs and oaks. Watching. Yearning. Have a soothing night wherever you are.
Sonne weicht, Kerzen bleiben. Bewegungen durch Küche und Flur. Andere dunkle Musik, älter als man selbst. Schritt vor Schritt, kein Tanz, zu ungelenk, aber man schwingt trotzdem mit, so gut man es kann. Irgendwie gegen die eigene Starre.