to continue with the sex theme, this one’s alternately titled Who I Did on my Summer Vacation (joking. sorta.).
An instance of repeating
when the world is only beginning
Strong coffee in the evening and a walk through the bookshelf of a stranger. He is too young for his grey hair, and he has been to Prague, and this Kundera, he’s Czech, isn’t he? We have already dreamed aloud together, and every step taken on common ground must surely bring us closer. I take the book home with me: heavy, even in its unbearable, unbeatable lightness.
