On a cold day in April, Adib, an immigrant in Germany, wonders where life has fled.

The mycelium in the world’s soil was withering. And now his research was this: registering all the decay, chronicling the death of entire ecological civilizations.

“Very rarely can the author of a story insert himself in one, for they can neither be participants nor observers; their roles are predefined and predestined as with all works of fiction.”

Is the universe coming full circle Finding itself, reflecting itself 

Rays of sunshine, when you look again. A poem about second glances and falling in love. Feet that were kicking, now just tap away