There is a certain calmness in the air, like silent students in empty corridors.

Or like the stillness of a body that haven't yet grown stiff and cold.

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There is a certain silence in the air,
like the unspoken words in a broken home.

Or like the nothingness drowning the soldiers that dare to kiss the ground.

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There is a certain smell in the air,
like the lingering smell of a white room.

Or like the suffocating smell of hundreds of stones in granite.

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There is a certain colour in the air,
like the colour of a ragged breath.

Or like the colour in a room where the one with the stretched hands dies alone.

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There is a certain noise in the air,
like the sound of ripping paper.

Or like the echoing sound of a door slamming close.

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There is a certain touch in the air,
like the soft grass cutting bare feet open.

Or like the faint touch of droplets caressing skin.

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There is a certain pain in the air,
like the silent pain in written words.

Or like the screaming pain in plastic chairs.

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There is a certain voice in the air,
like the wheezing of a can being opened.

Or like the squeaking of rubber shoes on blue floor.

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There is a certain light in the air,
like the flash of a camera reflecting in white teeth.

Or like the sun throwing golden happiness over the wedding by the orphanage.

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There is a certain darkness in the air,
like the sun-bleached fur on red asphalt.

Or like the church hiding death in the darkness of long shadows.

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There is a certain emptiness in the air,
like the apartment on the fourth floor.

Or like the starbucks cup next to abandoned hope.

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There is a certain thought in the air,
like the converse hanging on a branch of the aspen tree next to the parliament.

Or like the smile of a girl dancing bravely around a pole of metal.

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There is a certain secret in the air,
like the wood-louses under the shining floor.

Or like the words hidden beneath words.

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There is a certain longing in the air,
like the man caressing his daughter lovingly.

Or like the woman kissing the boy after making him all dizzy.

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There is a certain smile in the air,
like the smile of a family stepping on the blanket next to the toy store.

Or like the happiness of a man that moved to the giant mansion next to the sea.

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There is a certain anger in the air,
like the rage of a woman having her shoes ruined by the blood on the street.

Or like the family cursing the increasing taxes while planning a trip to their house in Italy.

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There is a certain whisper in the air,
like the thin white paint strokes on his tan thighs.

Or like the table painted red in classroom 216.

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There is a certain knowledge in the air,
like the blue lockers in the corridor with chewing gum instead of walls.

Or like the closed eyes of the ones passing the toilets next to the Swedish classroom on the third floor.

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There is a certain feeling in the air,
like the striped pillow with torn edges.

Or like the tree that crushed the bird.

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There is a certain uneasiness in the air,
like the swing with the broken rope.

Or like the thought of thinking thoughts.