Book of dreams |
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Some dresses are like ghosts

They are woven from somebody’s memories, sadness, regrets, bright moments of secret meetings with their lover. You can almost sense their quiet desperation to be touched again. To be undone by someone’s hasty hands.

In my strangest dreams

In my strangest dreams I am completely alone. I walk through forests in the morning sun and lightly brush the trees with my transparent hands. Days go by and my body becomes ligher. I slowly dissolve in the air.