For some time now I was putting novels aside to read more non fiction again, but I missed immersing into the world of stories, so I started to read again in the still dark morning hours with a candle burning in front of the fogged window. The first sounds apart from the people who are heading with their cars to work are the cries of the crows, then I know the sky is becoming slightly brighter whereas the air is getting colder. It's so beautiful to feel it all, to live from the inside. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by all the different nuances of everything. There is so so much between black and white. There is everything, multilayered in all dimensions. Thinking about this reminds me of my early childhood days where I would force myself regularly to think about death. People said there is nothing when you die. I made the attempt to immerse into this nothingness and it created the weirdest feelings in me. I can not say they were pleasant, it was more like falling into an endless hole, but at the same time they were drawing me towards them.
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