She looked at the Moon and stars, trying to find her path into them. She drew her gaze deeper and her mind began to sink in, seeing the Moon more closely, more clearly. There were towns and cities made of ivory, hopes and dreams. Castles made of teardrops, shadows made of stares and houses made of heartbeats. She tried to draw a breath, but seemed like her lungs failed to work. Something both icy and hot spiked in her eyes and she knew they were unwanted tears, making her peace shutter in pieces. She took out a cigarette and lighted it. Only a drag of it made her breath again, heart pounding loudly against her chest. Why was she feeling so fragile, so empty and heavy at the same time? Why those moon cities made her long for them more than anything else in this entire world? Home suddenly felt like something far and unknown, there were only fear and a wild hope for her to go the Moon and never come back.

Reizēm vajag dot mīlestībai vietu, kur atkāpties. Vai ziedu kādreiz var izsmaržot? Ja tu pieliec tulpi pie deguna un kādu brīdi ieelpo tikai tās aromātu, pēc kāda brīža šķitīs, ka tā vairs ne pēc kā nesmaržo. Vien tas pats plikais gaiss, kas parasti ar visām slāpekļa, skābekļa un citu gāzu daļiņām... Vai tāpat nav arī ar mīlestību? Tu pieej pārāk tuvu, apķer pārāk cieši un, ja paliec stāvot, tad pēc kāda laika tas jau ir kaut kas cits. Tas ir pieradums, kas liek mīlestības ziedam vairs nesmaržot. Un tuvības magonei, skaisto acu skatienu puķei, skūpsta tulpei. Izkāp ārā no ziedu pļavas, nostājies uz putekļainā ceļa un aizver acis. Dziļi ieelpo. Vai tagad jūti kā smaržo? Cik ļoti gribas ielekt atpakaļ starp visiem ziediem un katru atsevišķi pasmaržot? Dari tā! Tikai atceries nestāvēt tur par ilgu, neiesēdēt sev vietu, lai skaistums nepaliek pliekans, lai aromāts neizzūd.