stories etc.,

by SF

THEN ONE MORNING you wake convinced that in your dream you finally found your destination.

While dressing in haste and bidding farewell to family, playing a heavenly tune on the bed rails. Oh, do not laugh, things have two aspects, and I prefer the most exciting – and this ceaseless feeling…we could not live our real life, t’was there in the dark. ( at nights we hushed eavesdropping darkness ).

This insignificant scene comes to mind: dead flies stuck on the window in autumn, like big book pages ( we could not yet read ). Someone please explain! Dead kids are not afraid getting older as avenues of the blind are parading in our sleep, you see my homestead has always been there, yes there, where I was stopped by a word.

Ever since, I accept life without any antilogies, as in dreams.

Now drink to the health of compassion, as we will never get to know one another, you know, mother the same night father died, took out of the drawer, a girlish pin to tie her hair back, showing that all was not yet lost, we still have time.

I remained young, my admiration for Dorian Gray has nothing to do with it, no. It is because of this forgotten woman that passes by every night, I see her from afar erasing my Past with her long wavy dress.

Nevetheless now, let us leave our hopes for tomorrow and peep behind the sofa, big events are taking place there, like our first tears – later I had to suffer hiding my destination till, at the end, I fell in love with the georgeous tree in the garden….Ever since, I have never forgotten that, surely, there must be a serious reason for my being here, whereas in the far corner in each of my nights, there is a secret that I do not dare reveal. Exaggerations, you might say…but this is how we will be supplied with stories through winter.Â