A street in a city with small and tall buildings reveals silhouettes of humble humans working their ways out from their comfy homes to their wonderful jobs while carrying passions inside or dragging them along with the plan; this master-plan that makes us weak at times but so strong and determined to continue with our road, driven by hopes and wishes, desires and beliefs of a blissful palette. 

Frozen tears, warming the heart of a stranger, were falling down the cheeks of children and settling on the shoulders of those who either forgot or refused to persevere in preserving their inner-child for a bit more than just a season. This day took a nicer and lighter look at her passengers than a day of this kind usually does. And they felt better and calmer, comfortable with the greyness imposed and its cold weary air.

All personification of clouds was impossible though, so, whoever had such strangely enough, childish desires of innocence within their hearts to confide to their minds could only allow the eyes to be touched by the gentle caress of the refined light-grey blanket and imagine what is that they would find beyond.

Along short greetings, ‘hellos’ and morning conversations carried on the sides and at the corner of streets with names emptied of their pride, through the misty shadows taking admirable walks for inspiration and in between the snowflakes waltzing their hypocritical dance to the hypnotism of the idealist refugees, the fresh air of spring was announcing its renewed hypnotism.



A car and the ceiling, the veil covering her window, blown by the fresh delicate waves of a spring air and a dance of liberty showing itself through as if nothing else mattered more. This is how we find May: lying in bed, staring at the window widely with eyes that are offering her the privilege of this dance of a visionary element of nature, with a book in her hand, a large mirror in the left corner of her eye and a photo-camera that’s resting on the bed, right next to her. Oh! There's also a painting hanging on the wall but that is two palms behind her head, to her right side, at this particular moment. She always felt good around this painting, admired and protected by it, loved and cared for what and who she was; whenever she had to move someplace else she took the painting with her and, having as first objective in the selection of her new indoor habitat the discovery of the best placement for her treasure - a nice clean wall where sunlight would only gently caress its beauty and kindness, that perfect spot which would honour its existence. This was her way of showing her gratitude to the one who offered her this painting so she can enjoy a loving protective presence.

She was reading a book when we entered her world just to take a peek, along with the delicate perfumes brought by those fresh waves of a re-ordered spring; a book entitled “Principles on the Anatomy of Faith”. We entered her world and never really left ever since. At that specific time, we could observe the dim blurred light in her questioning eye and the expression of a concentrating mind showing through her facial muscles and skin. A screen of perfection in havens to create was initiated from within, creating the hologram of her inner beauty which was about to envelop her entire being and carry her away for a while, a most beautiful time lived in a warm peace and harmonious way, completed by all the love in that entire Universe. She was trying to “get it…”, the idea she just read between the lines and which was making her think and rethink the concepts and ideas behind the forms expressed there, on the pages left open to the winds of her gratitude. As her head - lifted-up by the power of a meditative form of text interpretation accompanied by her childish secretive queries - was offering her spirit  a most pleasant vision, feeding the hunger for illumination, we could observe her reasoning soul embracing the charming beauty concentrated in that corner of a room described earlier, abandoning itself to a sensorial contemplation without making her lose the interpretational material initiated and gathered along this perpetual movement of the sublime equation of time, safely deposited in the archives of our minds. 


Not quite there where she wanted to be, this May, but most certainly here, where we need her to begin admiring … the sadness in her eyes though, back there, into our future desires to reincarnate her…  Oh, but it is not the time to talk about this now. Right now, it is time for us to enjoy a moment of the anaesthesia of a pride in a soul that forgot to be human and humble. It is time for us to enjoy watching her take her medicine and feel good about herself in a cold distracted way, probably in a more aware way than we would like to think (mostly because our dear prides and precious greatness of ourselves), occasionally warmed by the love she can see in other people with which she resonates with a true heart when real, in an honest poetical feel that charms one and makes all of them – the ones around her - wonder. A form of hidden happiness. But please, don’t think about happiness in a generic way and don’t think about it in a crazy ecstatic way, the one that dazzles the watcher and amazes people with the sublime elation of the spirit. No. I’m talking about a nice (this kind word describing irony in a cold polite and sometimes poetic way!) one!


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