An ordinary late summer awakening. Sleepy eyes dazzled by the morning light softly sneaking through the window. The rays are silently crawling up the mountains of a body, revealing worlds of skins and structures for us to read their stories. The skin is warmed by the sun. It now glares from fascination for each and every pigment inscribed with memories of the past und promises of the future. Yet we are not able to read them. Some are too concerned with the color of the skin. Others are busy listening to their minds wandering in universes of prejudices far away.
, by Regina Leah