"I feel safe. This World is evil and dark and yet I feel safe.  What are the odds of that?"

In the Sistine Chapel sits an old man. His eyes fixed on Michelangelo's painting. He knows it soon is time; time for his last judgment.

A story filled with impressions of a day fading into night and the liveliness of a warm summer's night.

Memory is fleeting and all the more with age, yet some memories remain in this short story.

"My mother died. [...] How do you live without a mother?"

"I'm in love with my neighbor. Not always and not everywhere, just in the evening, when the world is hidden in darkness and I see her."

Do you know this feeling? You are breathing. You breathe in the whole world.

It has gotten cold. It smells of snow. The street is filled with people.

There is a place. A construction trailer. Lovingly renovated. A workshop. A roof from which you can see the sun rise.

I would like to tell you my story. It is a story of quietly observing in an ever-changing world. To understand, I am a table...

A brother and a sister and a silence that accompanies them since childhood. A silence that takes many forms and means many things.

"Once upon a time, in another world, a world far from ours where equality reigned, justice and freedom, ..."

I was not old enough to understand what happened. But I was old enough to understand that something had happened and that it was not good.

Two centuries have passed since the Rotunda was built. The events of this world broke through the Rotunda in waves and yet it still stands.

"You know what I've always wanted to tell you?" He looked at her expectantly from the doorframe.

Berlin in April - a photo story.

A poem.

This letter is for you. I write it with you in mind. But you will never read these lines. So, this letter is for me.

"Every pain is different. And every pain is felt differently." - A personal account.

A drawing.