When the town rests and only occasional whispers of sleepy tyres creeping past my window break the dreamfilled silence, the world seems to breathe slower by the hour. Just as long as the pale rays of the aging moon reach down like fingers to touch, in return, the naked fingers of the trees, right until the dawn sets in, bearing the sleepy sun, its sleepy light kissing sleepy people. Between inhaling and exhaling, countless visions emerge and fade with the ticking of the clock. Tick, tick, tick. Restlessly ticking. Time, never sleeping, becomes the only thing restless in this world of slumber. Yet, it is time that seems to pass slower by the second, slower with every breath until every second becomes a never-ending moment of eternity. The Night, my friend, is a time of wonders.
Picture: Fluorescent Moon by AnasthaZia ~ 20.01.15 ~
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