für immer jung

The night smells of freedom and something slightly bitter - like the air after rain, in which the remnants of yesterday have dissolved. Time slips through your fingers like ash, and the tighter you hold on to it, the faster it slips away. Everything seems to be both alive and fleeting at the same time: laughter, light in the window, a touch, the echo of a voice on the phone that will no longer be there.

And yet, there is a strange calmness in this fragility. As long as it burns, it means it was. As long as it hurts, it means it's alive. And if happiness is only borrowed, then let it last at least a moment longer than the night. After all, sometimes eternity fits into one short “now.”