Mimi has been sad lately and wonders if there is any life on Mars. Like David Bowie, she ponders, plays with the ideas, forms them like pieces of mud in a child' s hand and embraces them. It is almost inevitable to imagine this as a possibility, as an island of escape when she feels alone in this world. It makes her calm, as she pours naked drops of tea into the lonely mug.
If there was a life somewhere else, if in the universe there are others who walk and breathe alone, along their lonely track, would they understand? This brings her into a scene where she actually let this possibility unleashed and runs after it. But it is too late. Too late to save the flying rope of mystery and her own curiosity.
She enters a meadow, fog accompanying, dim light sets the atmosphere, she marches slowly. She is so tense and curious, that any sound interrupts her own focus, she breathes faster and hears her own heartbeat without being able to distinguish if those sounds are from within or not. She runs, she knows that there is no other possibility, this is her island, this is her wandering boat, she is the wolf, the hungry wolf on a vast meadow. She runs fast, feels the air penetrating her skin, her hair playing with the increasing velocity. As her breath is not enough, as her bone marrows start to disagree with all this insecure game, she sees the fog spreading out, away from her, leaving her behind, in all its glory and sadness.
She has to more breath. She cannot breathe. She cannot recognize herself anymore. If this is a reality or just a mere dream. Does it even matter? Runs through her mind.
Reality=Dream. She decides to makes this dreaming. To start thinking, running away from herself. Putting her hands on her knees, fatigued, she looks up. Only if she would be able to do this more often, she thinks. She leaves the idea of alienship, her mind leaves everything, clean as first spring daises enfreshed with morning dew, it stays.