30.01.2016 Scratching raw paper with graphite on the one hand. A dictionary to envy on the other. Coffee getting cold on the table. My sight is lost through the window, even further away than the last of the fields. I really ask myself what I'm thinking of these days. It's cold, it's grey, and I'm trapped into this red steel machine. I've missed so much beauty, being too busy to live. I love what I'm doing for a living, but I love the world way more. And I've been missing it for months. I felt strange because this silent and steady rhythm had disappeared. I lost it. But now it has taken me so naturally, that I'm starting to really ask myself what have I been thinking about these days. What was I thinking about, when I let the yellow curtain fall for what felt like forever. Am I healed now? I guess I'm just a bit more broken than I was before I came to the City of the Emperor. My mind seems to be torn apart, silent, reflexive, and it feels