Lõhnab sügise järgele.
Kuidagi ebatavaliselt kurb, sõbralik ja samas ilus. 
- A. Tšehhov

Öö on alati puhtam kui päev. Parim aeg mõtlemiseks, armastamiseks ja unistamiseks.  Öösel on kõik palju intensiivsem, palju õigem. Päeval öeldud sõnade kaja võtab öösel teistsuguse- uuema ja sügavama tähenduse. Öösel on aega, kui peatub aeg, et mõtiskleda. Öös on asju....

"I want you to hold my hand while we grocery shop. I want you to play with my hair while we watch our favorite tv shows. I want you to kiss me in the middle of my sentence because you wanted to taste my words. I want you to rub my back as we fall asleep. I want you to play my favorite song when I look sad. I want you to do these things without having to think about them. Do them because you love me."

Hakkan aina rohkem mõistma seda kui hulluks võib ajada inimese vaikus. Lihtsalt selline kisendav vaikus, millele sa tead et on järgnemas midagi, kuid mis?
Seistes paigal ja tundes karjuvat vaikust kõrvus. Soov edasi astuda on suur, kuid iga tagasilöök on kõrvetav ja sunnib samasse maha istuma-taganema.
Kus on tee, mis on õige? Eksisteerib see üldse või pean läbima kõrvetava tee jõudes armidega sihtpunkti kus kõik tundub nii hea.

Elu on justkui ilus. Te ei arva?
Kuid justkui ka keeruline.
Natukene nagu veider.
Imelikult paljude jänese hakkidega.
Natukene nagu hirmutav.
Vahel tunnen tema päiksekiirte paitust.
Vahel vihmaseid öid aknalaual istudes.
Kuid vaheldust pakkuv.
Erinev nagu öö ja päev.

“In this dream, we are baking cherry pies.
We are baking cherry pies in the middle of a sunlit kitchen and leaving them to cool on the windowsill. 
I want to say that there is sunshine spilling everywhere. 
I want to say that it’s falling out of the gaps between your teeth because it probably is. 
How could it not be?
In this dream I put my mouth on your mouth and try to catch all of that happiness with my tongue,
we play soft music that sounds like sighing 
and I breathe like a paper bird rustling 
against your tongue.
Did I say that there is a meadow in my stomach?
Did I tell you that you were every flower inside of it?
I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. You knew,
how could you not?
In this dream, you are probably licking my fingertips clean,
and we are dripping cherry jam on the counters. 
In this dream we are dancing barefoot on a wooden floor,
tangled so far inside of each other like knitting string.
I am kissing your shoulders 
and paying special attention to the dusk setting in your hollows. 
I am sticking my fingers in your belly button,
and your ears and right there, where you’re all ribs.
In this dream, we are belly full, 
I’ll kiss your knees and I’ll stroke your hips,
I’ll comb your hair.
In this dream, we sit side by side and hold hands
and knock our bodies like bowling pins.
In this dream I’ll feed you cherry pie with my fingers,
you’ll kiss me with your mouth wide open,
we’ll taste that sweetness everywhere,
how could we not?”

Azra.T., “Cherry Pie Daydreams”