There are so many people that I want to write to. There are so many faces which even while losing intensity still shine through the curtains of my memories. People who once were closed, the one who will always remain. I eat orange. Behind the window there is still sun because of a midnight sun period, up here in north. Because of the orange I have slight thoughts about Christmas.


Since last time I have been writing it has already passed three months.

I haven't been writing for three months.

Life is good.
Quiet.
Intimate.
Rumbling in its own way.
Creating the moments who will let us live over the death, together in the bless of rays.
While the summer was getting completed during its birthdays, full moon was getting fatter or rather I should say the fattest, we were creating the screenplay or rather we were actors as always, but without any negative abbreviation. Opposite we were the witnesses and actors of the theater of life, light, death and darkness. In two words – complete wholeness of mystery of life.
Last Thursday there was Tor Gunar's funeral.
There are no words to describe this few days other than – It was magical and very very beautiful. Beautiful magic or magical beauty. Both mean the same in this case.