it’s ladders to the sky,
Building up a high-rise.
we won’t last long,
But we’re giving it our best try.

We found us at a point of our life where we though we lost everything. Especally us.
We lost our voices that night.
To lose is good. Feels good. The next step is the only that’s left: begin to find something new. Or something old you oversaw all the time. Probably because it was too small. To less neon. To silent. But you find yourself by telling you that maybe silence isn’t the worst thing anyway. In your head. But not in your heart.

We found us on the pathway. Fall. Sourrounded by orange- yellow-brown caramelized leafs. It was a bit rainy. But didn’t matter. We shared a cigarette, shared the wet ground we were lying on, shared our thoughts and a biscuit.  You begun to tell me something about your father, calm christmas family- sit in. Till he broke out himself, your father, tired of his life as always, absolutely overdone with his family, with you, your two younger brothers and his wife. Sometimes his hand slipped. Made you harder, you say. Made you see that the worlds a piece of shit, I added. No, you mentioned, you learned what it meant to defent yourself really early . Painted your hopes and fears on paper. Now you earn your money with superheros. Forgotten that you are one yourself.

Did I tell you how sexy you are with your sleepy eyes when you sit right there, on your windowpane? With your pencil in your hand, your brown hair hanging down your shoulders, on leg over the other, concentrated and dreaming. Painting. Drawing? You are. You are one of my most favourite pics.