I spent the morning drinking black coffee and lying on my couch, staring at the roof and struggling in the dialectic of hope and despair. There cannot be a state of mind without the opposition, I wonder. Life would be so much easier without the despair that follows from the hopeless hope I have. The room reminds me of the emptiness of my life, and the little pain I get from spilling the hot coffee on my chest reminds me of the pain that tears my heart when I try to not to think about her. Closing my eyes makes the pain disappear for a moment. And everything around me entwines in a perfect harmony just to shatter into little pieces. And the pieces fall to the floor and there is no hope of getting them all up and back together again. I open my eyes and realize the reality. Mourning of the morning embraces me, and the sun of the passing noon greets me with all the brightness of the world.

The poles of human existence pull me to different directions, and I wonder whether the justice of emancipation is just a vague coming spot somewhere in between that can be arbitrarily pointed, simply because it can be pointed. And I notice that my thoughts do not make any sense anymore, so I decide to stop thinking. I put some music on and try to let my futile hopes be. I wonder what the day will bring. I cherish the darkness and the solitude of my room, while the day is getting brighter behind the curtains. I bring the cup up to my lips to notice that it`s getting empty. I need more coffee. The morning passes in a fine frenzy. I think I`m getting old.