when i begin.

every night.

at 2.47 a.m.

even if i´m asleep,

even if i´m in wonderland,

even if i´m in the middle of a nightmare with wide opened eyes.

that´s when i begin.

every night.

exactly 2.47 a.m.

even if i´m in tokyo and time´s different,

if it´s loud or silent,

if it´s raining inside of my room or the dry air is scratching my throat,

it´s when i begin.

2.47

not a minute more or less.

not a second earlier. or later.

not a centimeter in the left or in the right.

but here.

when i begin.

like a lightning in a jar.

like an earthquake in a child´s cupped hand full of soil.

like a constrained cough in a choir of hundred voices.

or like a far rattle of a bullet in the middle of the new years fireworks.

for me it´s when i begin.

2.47

but sometimes i just miss it.

the 2.47.

that´s when i die

and forget to be born again.

that´s when i continue.

and continuing, compared to beginning, is one step closer to ending.