Text & Photos: George Partsinevelos
Translated by: John Agrafiotis
Every November I feel the time heavy leaning on my back. … and I wonder if I will be able to give life to the rest of the time given to me.
I feel it leaving marks on my mortal body and on my little thought. And a bit of sorrow to remind me all the things I will not live. For all that will call me, to their hug but I will leave, one more time, I will leave far away.
But I wake up some mornings and I want to get rid of all these from inside me and walk peacefully down my own path.
I empty my thoughts and ride my motorcycle. The key turns slowly and the little time needed for the electronics to start the engine, looks to me like a century. The destination, a small dot on the map and this big desire that exists in me, stopped keeping my thoughts busy. This small dot stopped calling me. In my small life, I early understood that the destination is something deeper, something inner, and the more I get close to my inner self, the more thunderous is the discovery of my ignorance.
I will get on my motorcycle and I will wait the sky to give me a refreshing, autumn, rain. Only then, I will leave.
The first photo will come when the sky is clean. And I will stop writing. Let the photos do the talking.