Here I stay on this cloudy day. Staring at the shipwrecks, on my rock, feeling the cold enter my nostrils and chill my lungs. The sound of the breeze as strong as a storm wind but still a breeze; the silence and peacefulness of that place amazes me, not my body, but the soul. The body shivers with the cold wind coming from the sea, my buttocks frozen from the cold rock where I sit, my face burns and my head hurts. Aside that, my soul relaxes. It is not masochism, far from that, but being here is just awkwardly singular. Hundreds might have been on this beach, but a few have went this far… the old and mysterious village of Ojlen, not far from Ćimiarića, roughly 20 km away, and a couple more of kilometres from Berestraultz. The derelict power station, despite the harsh conditions, stays upright on the horizon, the conveyor belts and power lines complementing the sight. The old and abandoned railway is still there, spanning from and to the nowhere. Closing my eyes I can hear the waves breaking, the albatrosses soaring around and taste the void.
L.
Ma vie 