Judith Vriesema


Bles Tak

Run into a cold morning when trolls sing the sagas to a golden sea.
Run into the colours of the northern lights when Reykjavik dreams.
Run with your eyes closed into the winter wind when candles glow from windows covered in lace.
Run when truth and storm collide on a cold Icelandic night.
Run into the colours of a dream before infinity awakens you.
Run into the sound your heart makes when the soul finds the answer in a coffee cup in a midnight cafe.
Run to his voice and whisper 'Bl

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