Natalie Aléxia Larsson

There is an invisible curtain, made of brushed windows and ticking clocks. She felt it slowly flickering under the light summer breeze. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Down her spine were flowing itineraries of imagined journeys, a silk road travelled by echoes of songs heard in the distance of their shared space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A transparent veil woven in an uninterrupted silk thread enshrines her, one thought, the silver tidal wave of fate fills the space between day and night, the shadow line made of merged desires a dance in the wholeness of the mirrored time. 

by Daniele