“Now that we are nothing, for example,
we can be the rain. Surely
the rain will accept us without hesitation, even
when it’s starting. And now it’s starting. Drops
on the window glass: it accepts us,
this feminine rain accepts us. Kiss me.
Fragility, spin a thread toward the bird’s little foot,
fraternal ending of the rain or exhaustion, spin it.
A type of cardboard box with “Fragile” written
in a bold hand, free from trembling.
Let us be fragile for we are not the ocean.
Some form will accept us.”
I think the beauty of the universe just hits you at some point that even the little seemingly-insignificant stuff seem/feel way more beautiful. and I mean EVERY SINGLE THING ON THIS WIDE PLANET AND BEYOND (street dogs, trees, sky, people and their behaviour, stars, the moon, the sun, books, the grass, moles, eye-lashes, notebooks, history, destruction, rain, music, nails, animals, the sea, ideas, emotions, inventions, strings, instruments, handwritings, flowers, scents, food, outer space, honey, colours, your own skin and body.. Etc) that you choose you'd rather enjoy than record its beauty one way or another -by painting, photographing, writing or any other form- it all becomes very overwhelming. and this feeling is enough.