‘Stop fidgeting!’
‘Are you done yet?’
‘Would you calm down already?!’
Those voices wouldn’t stop. They are exploding in his brain every five seconds and he loses his focus. He walks down the hall and back to his room, opens the window and lights up another cigarette. While inhaling the cold night air, clouds of toxic smoke rise in the dark. It’s his only way to put himself together. As soon as the delirium has gone for the moment, he returns to his violin and starts transposing his feelings into beautifully organized sounds. Every emotion is transported by the music that fills the room. K. frees his frustration and becomes addicted to this ‘drug’, craving for the instrument’s touch. All his being is suffocated by this passion. He entered his own dimension, where nothing else matters but his boem mind.
Later, he returns to his journal. He writes another poem, for another broken soul. His health is shaking more and more while he is giving birth to these delightful words that have the misfortune to find their meaning in a sad story.
‘This is useless!’
‘Not again…you’re pathetic.’
The voices are back. This is it. His illness is irreversible, but so is his love for an icy shadow that tormented his heart. He keeps on writing lyrics until he ends the page with capital letters:
DRAW ME WINGS AND I’LL FLY.
The next day, he was found unconscious on the floor. Near him, there was a piece of paper with a pair of wings drawn on it.
I just felt like writing something in English.















