Spending the morning in bed with Ingmar Bergman and a thousand glowing butterflies inside.
The morning sun is a beautiful intruder in my bed, casting a warm light over my body. I love the morning hours. That’s when I feel the most connected to myself. Where I can listen to my inside like putting a seashell close to my ear to listen to the wind that doesn’t even exist but somehow is trapped inside its own silence. Every morning we are reborn into a world that looks the same but always is slightly different. When we go to bed it has changed us a little too. The day is both adding and tearing down layers of our own reality. Life is elastic and alive like a breathing entity. If I reach out my hand in this morning light, I break the stillness but at the same time it finds a way to get inside me and for a second we are one and the same. We are soon interrupted by he clouds and the seconds of constant changing shadows in my mind.