The reason of being there ever so astonishing as the unreasonable pleasure of being here. This is what I hear whenever you pass by, which is always. A moving presence, a piece of an eternity I am sure, even at moments when I look at the never failing brightness of the moment rather than the moment itself. A sort of translucency in the heart of time. As when I was expecting you to lift one of your hands while only on one wheel, the hand that is always waving at us.
Arrangement Lo Snöfall, text Vasilis Papageorgiou.
chromata 
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