180

The ice cube in my hand.

Traces and reflections.

Feeling confused.

The beauty within the moments you so badly want to freeze.

Moments, melting in my hand.

Connections, obsessions, passions.

The happy, sad, fulfilled, destructive ones.

Those little crystals, the second you feel they could be eternal they melt.

Disappear in the haze.

I hold onto until my hand turns red, becomes numb.

Observing the conversion until emotionless arrives.

There is nothing you can do, besides of feeling.

Melting and Freezing.

The cold and the heat.

I jump into water, what else could I do.

Taking care of the body that is restricted.

180, deeper bigger taller than myself.

I close my eyes.

Lapping the projection away.

The skys washing machine brings a shower from above.

I take my hand out, 181 I become.

Rolling back.

Above and below merging.

I hold my breath.

Swim as fast as I can and wonder, how long can I be underwater.

love hanna