Elīna Sproģe > Recent Status Updates

It is after all so easy to shatter a story. To break a chain of thought. To ruin a fragment of a dream being carried around carefully like a piece of porcelain.

History's smell.
Like old roses on a breeze.
It would lurk forever in ordinary things. In coat-hangers.
Tomatoes. In the tar on roads. In certain colours. In the plates at a restaurant. In the absence of words. And the emptiness in eyes.

Annoyed and captivated by Natalie. Also fighting the urge to visualize her and Caleb as Hannah and Daniel from Ballerina Farm.

“I dream that lawla flowers will blossom in the streets of Kabul again and rubab music will play in the samovar houses and kites will fly in the skies.”

“What good are words, severed from anything real?”