morning thoughts 24.3.

I am easiliy obsessed with studying the art of being human.
This morning I took my daily subway ride to another day of the placement which would probably leave me miserably walking around Hamburgs beautiful warenhouse quarter during my midbreak.I was focusing on my book instead of nervously scrolling the facebook newsfeed up and down. Well this time somebody gloriously strange appeared in front of my seat. Not only was he reading a nice looking novel from the cheap section as well, but he also had to too log legs to fit into those old wagons. His reddish, curly hair was not quiet awake yet and he seemed to be such a thinker that in the deepness of his thoughts, he would not feel the freezing cold of this wintery morning. That young man only wore a tree green T-shirt and held some tiny jacket for future rain. He was so tall, he seemed way too scandinavian to be german. And of course he certainly did not notice me. So I could no longer focus an the book thief, but imagening where he would have woken up this morning, probably kissing a beautiful scout girl – as they both, not quiet ready, wondered off into daylight.
He might have been the best of average inside, but I still realised the magic of being somebody’s human inspiration, that daily sparkle or the wondering in someones thoughts. If only I would look up more to see whats hidden behind skin, so naturally.

shot

I’m staring at the woman sitting in front of me.
Every single thing about her reminds me of the fact that I am not all put together. My hair looks like I was lost in a rainforest for a week, brushing it with leaves of a liane. My bags leather seems like pulled out off mud and its grass green colour does not fit the one of my scarf. My makeup has wondered off into space and my tiredness exceeds the ambition to look graceful.
That woman, maybe in her late 40s, had a thigh gap, a ring on her finger and fur around her neck. There was that elegant sparkle around her, that aura of nothing could ever be able to ruin her posture. She avoided my eyes but surely had she analysed all my pimples by now. congratulazione. I didn’t.
I’m too busy wondering. Sleeping till the last minute of spare “becoming presentable” time in the morning is overslept, doodling on my fingers, enjoying ice cream way too much. I am some kind of a hippie, unsanded and so pathetic.
And even though I feel the need to justify everything about it: When I stepped out of the subway, jumped down the stations stairs and looked up to the weekends night sky, appreciating the few tiny stars shining through the fog and walking home- I certainly felt more life in my lungs and more fascination in my heart, then her calling a cab.