joost klein/joost klein

Ice is like a thin line between reality and dreams. It's easy to break, but impossible to return to the beginning.
It's like breaking a heart, but it can't be fixed. You can glue it back together, but the shards of ice are embedded in the very edge.
Figure skating is an art in itself. It's as if it came from another world entirely, with an elegant atmosphere that defies words.
Hockey was rougher and more abrupt. You can feel the tension in the match and the quick movements that lead to a goal and victory.
You were one of them - a figure skater. You trained at one of the largest stadiums on Sunday mornings and continued until evening.
When you arrived, you began to change your clothes and exchange your shoes for skates.
Stepping down onto the slippery surface, you noticed a silhouette dressed in a hockey uniform. A stick, a puck, and a helmet. The only thing you could see were the blond man's eyes and locks of hair, like the sun.
Our gazes met and burned right through us. We froze, and the sound of his heartbeat was unbearable in that silence.
" Jost Klein, hockey player. I train here ," the awkward barrier finally broke and the guy uttered the words.