Things As They Are
Night falls while I try to find my way. Fog rolls off the wide streets and swallows the bricks of the old houses. A broken awning beneath which I stand, watching my breath turn to mist, wondering if a person can be completely lost and entirely home at the exact same time. The quiet airport gives off a light bluish hue, reflected on the metallic grates. Some distant clock tower resounds with thirteen bell strikes, the extra chime calling for something unknown yet lingering in my heaving chest. I reach into my pocket only to find an elegant silver compass that has never been seen. Its needles vibrate violently, yet stop and point toward a solid direction when I start taking my first step forward. In the endless pitch-black space in front of my sight, a spark trembles in the distance, and the cold night wind suddenly carries a faint smell of frankincense, myrrh, and benzoin. A blown-out candle is waiting in silence.
– 28.05.26
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