Sounds from the past.

It’s August and I am sitting on the grass, in Berlin. I am alone with my thoughts. I have a camera, but no one who takes pictures of me.

Memories come back in black and white, just like the pics I took back then.

Oranienburgerstraße is a long street and it takes me a long time to walk it all. My legs hurt. I am alone and you don’t know you are there with me, somewhere in the middle of that intricated net of busy streets.

I sit on a bench in a green park, there is no one around. I take a picture of myself, almost a reminder of the fact that I exist even if not a single soul is thinking of me. Or at least, so it seems.

Alexanderplatz is huge and full of people. I have seen this place before. How many times did you see these same things, walking out of the underground and looking up in the sky? You seem to inhabit this place even today, in spite of being far away, far far away in many ways.

How many thoughts do we hide to the world?  How many times do we live in someone else’s dreams?


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