What you’ll find here are traces, thoughts, fractures, and gaps. Not a finished picture, but a fabric woven from attempts, memories, and possibilities. Maybe you’ll spot a pattern. Maybe you’ll get lost. Maybe you’ll find yourself. Or something entirely different.
She was a few minutes late again. Not late enough for anyone to say anything. People at work had long since gotten used to it. One person gave a brief wave, another did not even look up. She hung her jacket over the chair in the office and immediately thought again of the call she had m...
When she opened her eyes, it was already late in the morning. The sun was shining through the window, and under the blanket it was slowly getting too warm. She stayed where she was for another moment and looked toward the door. The trousers from the night before we...
In the weeks when sleep began to feel lighter, he started to take an interest in the moments in between. Not in dreams in the usual sense, not in their images or their strange logic. It was something else that held him. A brief state in which the night was not yet ove...
The morning did not arrive with light, but with pain. First his back made itself known, then his neck, then the cold in his fingers. He stayed sitting for another moment, the blanket pulled up to his chin, and looked at the wet pavement in front of him. Moisture had gathered...
No sound had woken him. No dream had been torn apart. The room lay still around him, in that depth of night when even familiar things lose their names. The wardrobe was a block. The chair by the door a shape. The window a pale surface, beyond which there was nothing to...
Most conversations have no clear goal. They arise from the need to tell something one has experienced, or to share an impression that still lingers. People talk about the day, about encounters, about small events that held meaning fo...
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