Barcelona, April 2010
One of my biggest weaknesses is balconies. I could probably live in a tiny cock loft with a ceiling weighing on the back of my head, but I would still need to have some sort of a terrace. I really cannot understand that people might be afraid of heights. Skies give freedom. Then the sun takes its toll, blinding, blinding you, making you forget everything you left behind, making you strip down, expose your naked soul, expose your fears and your flaws, expose them shamelessly, face them, burn them down. And then time stops.
My little balcony somewhere next to Mediterranean seashore had had a lot of various experiences with me. Smoke of cigars, a bit of hysteria, and spleen, when I came to realize I actually had my hands tied. And somehow, there, on my balcony, it didn't scare me. Not yet.
I think that's where I left a tiny piece of my soul.
