I asked myself where my passion for stories came from, I asked why my wanderlust is so powerful – why do I dive head first into stories and worlds beyond this one? I guess it is because I chose to look beyond the crest of the hill and did find greener grass. There are days, such as this one, when my smile fails me and mild sadness grips ahold of me. The noise of the city, this grey and barren labyrinth made of lifeless monoliths reaching into cloudy skies, just becomes a little too much. I feel like I imagine a bird in a cage might.
The man in the picture is indeed me. I never really saw it as if I’m leaving. I’m going somewhere, always headed somplace new – so how can I be leaving if I never stop? But then again, I must have started somewhere, right? Maybe. It does strange things to a man, being like this. You ask yourself how you see people… is this person an anchor, something to hold me in place and grant some stability and safe harbour – or is this person the wind that fills my sails as we sail together toward Greener Horizons.