Sometimes the sky fall.There are days, when you can stumble across a piece of sky lying on the sidewalk in the middle of Tel Aviv...Perhaps that’s why I love this city so much. Perhaps that’s why I fell in love with Ireland so desperately.
The skies in Ireland lay so low on the ground that you feel you walk right on them, you breathe them, you can practically taste a cloud on you tongue. Tastes like something old...moldy. Surprising, huh?
And sometimes you see the sky in a puddle at the railway station...and you're not sure whether the street is reflecting in them or the other way around.
And you would like to take pity on them, bring them home, clean them up a little, nail them to you ceiling perhaps. Feel a little godlike.
But you can't really pick them up you know. I tried.
So many times I tried.
It's just like carrying water in your bare hands.
You know, sometimes the skies just fall down.
There's nothing you can do about it.
There's nothing you can do about it.
If God can't even keep track of the one thing he owns completely....then who the hell am I to try to hold the whole god damn world beneath my fingers?
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