369.

The sun is raising. In front of me there's a church with two domes.



One day won't be there anymore. To my side there's a bird on a branch. One day won't be there anymore.
It's the afternoon. One day, I won't be here to be standing in the shadow anymore.



No more blogging the moment, no more mistakes or joys. No more. No-one. Nothing. Never.
I build the hope to be some place else next, but may stop being forever aswell. Religion is built on the uncertainty, and the implied fear of tomorrow.
It's the night. All I have is now, and it feels far too small to cling to. But look!... I'm very, very, infinitesimally small too.