Rosy London

I found myself in London for a bit. And for that bit London was drowning in roses... white, red, non-rose colours...

Some kind of retrospective

For the past  hour the same song keeps repeating itself on my iTunes. Quiet, gentle, like a touch of a cool arm, that slowly glides over my waist, as if I would be the keys of a grand piano, it makes my breath be the magical, genius sound that comes, overwhelms and fills the room through the open deep black wooden cover of its. 

I close my eyes and I can feel my body sink into the matt. For a moment there is just the weight of my chest, moving slower and slower. I am losing it more and more, can feel my wight drowning me, pulling me deeper  into the solid cold floor, into nothingness. 

After all that dullness of days, years you need the feeling that your hart can feel, that it is alive and beating. From the high sound your ears go numb, but then you can enjoy the base, feeling sound waves with your heart, feeling it tremble, feeling it almost hurt from the power that goes through you, but your overwhelmed, feels if every stronger sound wave as an invisible force throws you back.

I could see my self lay back as if I would be watching myself from the side. I closed my eyes before my head was rested on the ground. I stayed as still as the source of music next to me. 

For just a brief moment I could embrace oddly complete stillness. Let all the thoughts go, let all the creases fade on my face and let my mind and consciousness glide away.

And in that moment I could feel it. Music materializing in my veins almost as sound levels. I could feel single notes and then accords, lighter ones barely, stronger ones becoming more like electricity. All floating to my hart. Then I could feel the music, feel it with my heart, feel the magic take over and ease me into tranquil sleep.