luni, 14 septembrie 2015

The Bird


I lived only for you she said, once upon a time when the skies were building up to swallow the moon, as the lovers from the moon, the first lovers in the world, decided to destroy each other as their love was more than they can take.

We are in a war. A never ending war of You and I and Us. The art of war is forgetting that there is a love as deep that can cover the whole skies in rhythms of melancholy and blues.
Let's dance he says, then he steps on her foot and she cries. He apologises for his clumsiness grabs her hand and asks her to marry him. Only spiritually as he will take her to a a place covered where they can read poetry from another world through binoculars and sip on the most renowned wines straight from Dyonysus's orchards.
She cries even more as his image fades away. It was just her imagination.  He was the potential of a man and she was the potential of a lover. Of a bird straight out of an old magazine that wanted for someone to simply swipe the dust of her feathers.

The bird grew old and nobody dared to open the book. Nobody wanted to see a dusty bird that would chant about poetry while saying that she forgot how to dance.
Until one day...The owner of a rabbit thought he should start a magazine collection. So he looked at this one magazine covered in dust, broken and torn on the edges but as bright as ever. The book would stay on his shelf and as the sun shined it's colours shined even brighter. He was looking at the bird every day and the bird was somehow changing.
He got inspired, he even did a magazine gallery that everyone attended to.
One day he made a collage with birds and there She was. Euphoria he called her.

Featherless or not, it's simple, take the dust off whatever dreams you have and chase them. Whatever shadows will follow they will surely be scared of how bright your life path will become.

Boxes and magazine pages don't mean containment ---
--- They are simply birds that will inspire you once you release the dream, they will also be free in your imagination.


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