it´s not so much the defiance of stereotypes and the ensuing realms of tenderness speaking to my skin in secrecy, making every cell burst like Japanese cherry blossoms in spring. no, it was much more that moment when your words and eyes told a story of transformation and continuation, of your dealing with your dad´s death, which burst my shell into a thousand pieces: waterfall. because: i saw him dancing. i could feel him dancing. like in that painting. i could feel he was there. i was never alone. and as i was sitting under that ridiculous flower bouquet at the bar smoking your healthy cigarettes, i finally started raining from my eyes. unstoppable. desert rain.