(re)new(ed)

(I wrote this the week before I moved to Jena, so it was in the end of September. I haven't really had internet since, and so I was unable to post this. However, this weekend I am home again with my family before classes really start on monday. Also, I'm 20 now. hm.)


There is a poem I wrote in January that I cannot get out of my head.
I found it again a few days ago, somewhere on my hard drive, and the time it found me first, when I simply had to scribble it down on an old train ticket, is still so vividly present.

Melancholy, at its best. Those times seem so distant, yet they are so close.

(Remember the time when you set out to photograph some boats, and that industrial monster, but when you got there, the right light was just gone. You were out of breath, but you still weren’t fast enough.
Leaves were taking off to fly in the wind, and you knew fall was there. )


I am more hopeful today, excited for the days to come,
new people,
new places;

a (re)new(ed) faith.


(and this is why art is so spiritual:
There simply is no end to the journey.
You never have your fill.)


Inspiration lays everywhere, and nowhere (you’re becoming a professional word-thief again) when all you want is to write; but writing, that always is the work of grace.

The seasons’ transitory being; the story of winter to spring and spring to summer and summer to autumn and autumn to winter (just to make place for spring again) is your story. It’s written all over your soul.

Suddenly you remember that couple, carrying a lamp across the street; you wondered if you could ever arrive, be home, no matter where you are. (in Him.)

So these days, more awake than you have been most of the time, breathing that crisp autumn air, you’re off to a fresh start again.

Maybe it will become home,
maybe it will only be another waiting room before you take off for your next adventure.

But surely, someday, your coffee will be strong enough.