The Voyager

„It was a cold and stary night in late december. Icey flowers grew over the window pane and trough the pours of my wallpapers. As I couldn’t sleep, I went down to the harbour, to mourn the ships, as they were embraced by unforgiving blocks of frozen seawaters. Deep in my soul I felt the yearning for touring. – Shortly thereafter I left, leaving friends and relatives behind. The most familiar coast was rapidly fading into the mist.

Friendly creatures were looking through the pothole, as they were passing by. But more than once my expedition was on the edge of failiure, due to beaurocratic tempests.

Untouched I dreamed in gardens of water and slept in a palace made of light – just like the old lady predicted years ago. On my way the lonley cyclops led me into his hidden forest, revealing his secrets to me. Squads of  flying fish were my companions, moving the waters below us. I was collecting memories, putting them on a string like seashells.

Wandering from the hollow shores of the north to the firey delierious deserts of the south, compassionate roses lined my way, multisexual plants caressed my hair, as I was passing by. I lived on foul waters an half fermented fruits. One day I steped on2 a dehydrating jellyfish...

Today I feel the cold autum breeze in my face, and sometimes I think of you wearily.

But I shall not return...“