I am sitting
on my bedside
as if on the edge of a cloud
at the threshold of the world 

holding on
to my cup of coffee
legs hanging over the edge
my hair dripping
my body wrapped in a towel 

I do not want to go
into the world
into the day
into life 

I prefer to stay
with my small pieces of sorrow
in my otherwise empty bowl

I look at them
stroke the cat
the touch is necessary
for her as for me 

I know
that as I am now
maybe only she
has seen me 

slowly we start to play
I gently pull the pencil
towards me
she accepts my invitation
to join the game

telling me
not to think so much
but to feel 

the emptiness
the warmth
the humidity
the softness
the joy
it all suddenly fills me 

the balls of joy
are colourful
and make beautiful sounds
many of them can fit
into an empty bowl 

I am ready
to face the day
and it’s greyness
because the colours in me
will show the way
the fire in me
will keep me warm