This act of kindness, what is it really in itself if not a certain part of a garden, earthly at times or astral, showing itself, showing its heart, its pounding. And there is something behind it too or hovering over it, it slows it down, clouds it. It touches me but I don’t return the touch, I am painfully afraid. I just observe it, try to be discreet to it I say to myself. I am simply lacking. I am failing towards it right now as I’ve done before. Falling. And the heart is catching me, is putting me down on the uneven pavement before driving smoothly away in its car. There will always be a smoothness in unevenness and never an unevenness in smoothness.
Vasilis Papageorgiou
chromata 
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