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What happened next? A dream or reality?
Only if I could sleep at night, perhaps the moon will dance with my dreams. It highlights the shadows of those who walk at night hopelessly and reflects their tears against the cold breeze in the dry sky. People always believe that grass is greener on the other side, but we all have our misery, even rich man stress over killing a chicken. Sometimes a wish can't come to pass in dry lips that break to the last skin layer, but it doesn't mean you can't still count the stars in the Kalahari Desert while looking for answers in the moon. The cracked eye lens can only show the pain from the day before and the voices in his head solely narrate the horror yet to come. The mind can reach a point where you can't even dance with the monsters in your head anymore. Nobody cares to know what happened, I'm just puzzled about how she left everything to go. I didn’t see this chapter coming to an end, maybe my eyes were only focusing on the kisses let out by the moisture from her breath while the hands dried the oil for tomorrow. Does love choose the heart to rest in or some are just cursed from it? It does matter because no one has the answer, we just create what stays in our minds to survive. The fact that we are different doesn’t make all of us survivors of love, some just want to die from it and it all happens when you give it your all and get nothing in return.
Some say it’s the spirit of faith that lives on, I assert it's the foundation of acceptance that breathes us. “The web of anguish created for the fourth,” He mumbled. That second the pain reached its culmination, without thinking he just sticks out his dry cracked hand for the nylon rope. Someone will say he had eczema, but it was just the wounds from the Mopane tree. The skin of the drying can feel when a spirit is about to meet the ones at serenity, many souls are called upon by the graveyards every moment, but yet have a lot to offer. Sometimes hope dies and we die with it. We all don't want to perish; some just want to end the misery within, but if only they had their druther. The smoke from the cigarette was still cloudy his sight, but that didn't matter, the man was willing to craft his death. Ashes to ashes they say maybe that's what the cigarette embers highlighted, the man was one step from hopping from his yore. The untold tale of a man about to act his fourth suicidal attempt, he counted his steps off the stone and that was his last memory. Anyway the paradox of his death laid on the ant-eaten branch of the mopane tree, the rest is history. what if we are all called to death, and we do have a choice at the end but the light ahead is way better than what earth has to offer?
The only thing between the little boy and the thunder was the cracked window. The dormer still had his blood from when his uncle was forceful and rape him against it, how can he forget? Did he? All that was in his mind that time was the sound of his empty belly, I can’t think of the last time he ate. Wow! I recall now, that was three days ago when his uncle lockdown him because he was about to tell. The little man didn’t have it in him to clean the closet, the ghosts, and the webs in his psyche were partying with his self-esteem to its last breath. The bricks layered by our fears and pains harden with time to create an empty soul too hard to fill. Little Tom couldn't even go to school, and I guess that's what you get when your depressed mother and alcoholic father die, no one seems to care. Seasons past but every day was the same for him, he was still the chef, cleaner, and washing machine to his uncle's whole family. The cousins were informed Tom was not even a close relative. “He is just a lost miserably an orphan,” the uncle said proudly, I presume his goal was to make his offspring not feel sorry and just join the party.
The bloody monster was getting older and couldn’t even overpower the little being he demolished, and the only chess trick left was to throw Tom into the street. Sometimes we can’t lose faith because it was never there, primarily when happiness in your esprit will be a biblical miracle. Life under a bridge was a little freedom for his internal peace, but a lot could be said as feeding his stomach was his daily goal. “Winter is here,” said the cold air, if only he can mutata in firmamento solii then shifting places will be ideally.
Covered with the snow he caught a cold, umpiring from his eyes freezing to death was the last wishing card. Little Tom couldn’t die yet, the whiskey in his blood was still boiling to keep the internal organs at heat. Like father like son they say, ones an alcoholic always an alcoholic.
That is not the case, occasionally we lose the bigger picture. The terrors within crafting us to become the disastrous version of us. On the other hand, the ground marks our footprints for those coming behind. All I can say is life is a complicated web design by a maze runner, we all don’t know what’s next. The sun started to melt the snow from his feet. I could tell by the fire from his eyes; he wants to see tomorrow, maybe for now. “I so hate it when I have to aspire for a better future when it’s just dust, it’s like I’m filling a bottomless jar with tasteless candy.” Said Tom. He said the word ‘candy’ as he has ever tasted one in his life. They say you become what you taste, wait, eat, it doesn't matter he won’t get diabetes. Red eyes crying every day, maybe he was having a street herb, marijuana they say. Change of seasons, blue sky, green earth yet the same dead soul up for a feast. His tearful eyes couldn't resist the beauty of butterflies above his horizon.
My hands just freeze when I try to ink a happy piece about this young man. Imagine trying to paint the sun with dull colors and even a blind person will smell it’s just a moon. Never say never maybe green and black can give you yellow.
From the trunk of the oak tree, he saw her.
Yes, I know I just said her but for the young man, it was like a light before the tunnel.
For the first time, he smiled, “is that love,” he said. His breath was filled with melodies, and he even sang better than the fallen angel. Cleaning himself in the pond, the next day was all about finding a job. How can a beautiful soul just change a drying person from a distance? The tune of life is love. The place where the pain is dissolved, emotions cannot be clarified and enchantment appears conceivable. We can't portray it in words but can attempt by caring, supporting, regarding, and being fair to those we love but to humankind, the love is always unclear. For life to go well, we have to love ourselves and those around us with no questions in our minds, heart in place and expect nothing in return because after all, we have the love of God. Run within the ferocity of love like a neonate with no fear and immaculate heart. A female elephant will watch out for its blind offspring for a long period after pregnancy and that’s the art of a motherly love displayed. The same loves our parents to have for us but communicated in many different senses. we become optimistic for what we get and relish it on our kith and kin.
I guess only the music of love was in Tom’s ears. Someone will say he was setting in motion on a vogue, and the level of preparation to glimpse this young woman was on another degree.“I'm born to love, and I live to love, I die to love.” He said. Life has been meaningful for him, and I guess a kiss to a dying soul can bring the dead to life.“can I be your eyes, so I can appreciate your beauty every day and night” oops God, that’s what I wanted him to say to her. Gone are my poetic love days. Her shadow reflected every corner of the street, beheld an angel missed paradise to earth. Curly chocolate African hair with highlights of vanilla across the baby hair breezed away by men who couldn’t help but notice and appreciate her tremendously. The young fellow digested the art of his words to say upon seeing the beautiful young woman, they say poeta nascitur, non fit, maybe Tom had it on him. The motion of the two hands trying to open the coffee shop was electrifying if that's how love is exchanged then my soul hasn't been in the auction. He looked straight into her eyes breathlessly and whispered, “black coffee will do.” “my name is Anayah,” with an amazing smile said the lovely young woman. The chemistry plug was at its most until they took their seat not that it was ever unplugged. I bet the table they sat on was not obeying gravity, Jack, and Rose on their titanic table. “I guess is the smell of coffee, and tones of your skin that made me forget to introduce myself, call me Tom.” Can you guys already kiss and live happily ever after, and I will buy the wedding rings and be the best man of all time, it’s the beauty of love that made me assert all of that?
Maybe I’m a bad writer, perhaps I’m not. I will rather keep my head in a milk bucket and express emotions and feelings deeply more than picturing out the weather, walls, or even little details that my characters glimpse and experience. The little things we do and see every day do matter but it’s the reason behind everything that matters the most, emotions. I could hear her breath miles away and even the coffee couldn’t help but vibrate along with her eyes scenery. Tom, on the other hand, was crafting his voice with the art of love and affection. Saying the right love vowels Anayah hoped to hear, if it wasn’t the world of milk and honey then I don’t know. Reckon, they make me want to be in love again. The coffee was already cold, it didn’t matter as sharing scenes of their lives was the hot topic on the roll. Sometimes expressing your miserable part is like bestowing enemies a thousand strategies to end you. I guess I was in my world of trust issues because as for Tom and Anayah it didn’t matter, even the dark cloud that was ahead of them meant a bright day after. Don’t ask me which cloud, before sharing the pain let me journey you into their lovely moments, I don’t want to be the dignitary of pain. Tom brought all heavens on her loved one, not even the rainbow could reflex the beauty of it from all corners.
He called her the classic Anayah, ooooh God that young lady had a sense of style from her breath to her touch. She decorated the house they rented into a love bird's nest inline with a honeycomb. I’m sure your imagination is trying to paint it out, let me save the time for you. The house was just perfect for two, well organized, the taste of bright colors, and so clean you could lick the walls. How can I forget? She had a goldfish. If anything ensued, I would be sure she will kill the world for it. Enough about the fish after all it’s the key to all the atrocity. Waking up next to your lover is a dream for most couples. Visualize the art of love in action as the first morning light reflects the edges of the tiles close to the bed. By that moment you can only hear their heavy breath moisturize the sheets. It’s the sweat that curves with their body tempo before the alpha could stimulate the curve of the climax while the Luna rest motionless on the bed. Few jiffies before everything, legs were shaking, hearts were beating, and the room was full of echoes I couldn’t even make. That’s what you call good morning baby. “Breakfast is on me baby, take a shower I will fix everything,” said Tom as he walked toward the kitchen. Hormones crawled with her to the shower with a smile over her face. He indeed unlocked the eccentric personality in her. The way he rolled his eyes concludes the sack was vacant after releasing all seeds to germinate.
Seasons changed but the love was growing strong and every moment was creamed to be a happy memory. It’s the art paintings at the very center of each apartment wall that took my breath into the sea. Imagine composing art pieces from each other nudity and treasure them as part of your home. Seeing a couple in our epoch swelling much from love is worth an ink to print in our hearts that indeed love is substantial. Maybe I should also get into a relationship and love someone's daughter to the endless of my lifetime. The fact that I’m still trying to love myself and build my empire makes it even hard to fall in love. After all the world is so complicated that you can’t even get to trust someone with your heart, society has turned against good virtues. I hope one day she sees the love I have for her in my eyes. Most of the time those we love don’t feel the same way as us, and can’t blame the matrix of life for that. Time will come when the ocean waves your soulmate to your heart step. Perhaps never. I live to conclude today as I may never see tomorrow, call me crazy but it's the inner peace that compels that version in me. The music to my soul can be a concert to my mind not forgetting the echoes that come with hallow darkness in our minds. Picturing a better world with someone is easy, but the art of crafting the actual model is like creating your universe from just dust. No one is perfect even a robot can crush down to its last ones and zeros. Even if epitome is snatched out of the equation of life the power to choose and make a decision rules the deck of cards. One can analyze matters at hand and choose what they feel it's best at that moment, but it’s in the power of time to reveal the consequences in chapters that can cause horrors or peace. The quagmire of decisions influenced by emotions, relationships, beliefs, information, and personal desires. Never rule the power of pain when in love, but again enjoy every moment of life like it doesn’t matter.
It has been 6 months and the baby was still having its kicks, I guess when you have one life in your womb the life around is forgotten. The smell could even kill a rat in the closets, how could they forget to feed the innocent fish? She blamed herself for fish death maybe she was right, never forget the little things that always made you happy even when you find an ocean of new happiness. Sometimes we get into a relationship and forget about the other things we care about and create havoc. After the storm, we often scold our inner selves for what happened. “I’m not going to be a good mother. I can’t even raise a fish,” mumbled Anayah as she crawled to bed in tears. At that moment the only thing Tom could do is clean up and take her into his arms and say nothing. That is what I will have done especially if I have never seen the love of my life in tears. I know I lack romance or a sense of touch but words can’t do a thing in some scenarios. The pain was sculpturing its way into her life, perhaps I’m overthinking.
The angiosperm character in her started to protect the fractional mood swings that made her look vulnerable. I just wonder if the Charles Darwin apes had hormones that define us today or they just hit a rock on a rock. Animals are ever loyal and can be trusted, as for us humans, we are chalk and cheese. We are said to have evolved from apes, I can’t just see that animal in us. Blocks different in shape and colour and fighting to be powerful, rich while other shapeless blocks leave in the lurch. Enough about human beings, too many chiefs and not enough Indians.
Did I just have a dream? Maybe I did, what happened next? Dream between your reality and imagination maybe you will know the answers. Don’t blame, blame my mind.
