It
has been a while I cannot dream at night,
the
sea glass is not transparent any more
and
real is what engages me
between
the space waves
of
time left behind,
returned
as an open check
that
hits gently my neck.
The
crystal light is missing.
I
have to go through
the
old and the new,
which
means a lot of dedication
on
what we call present and a day,
no
matter how we can, we just do it
as
my hands, the same that classify now
used
to be in the clay.
The
expectation might come true
and
there was hidden
the
point of truth and my vigilant eye.
May
come true,
the
current disorder epics do narrate too,
but
I need to move on,
cut
this tunnel voice,
make
another phone call, come to surface
and
walk faster, think deeper;
during
the still and scare moments
of
the ordinary days I put my feet in order
and
let my upcoming dreams live in disorder.
The
crystal light left me indeed.
No
dream for last night
again;
Beckett,
my
simulation story
is
the landmark name
every
time egoism plays games
and
I cannot wait for that detail
that
will make me see different.
Dreams
are open air figures too;
they
visit us upon arrival
to
the time place
made
by our composure.
Between
facts and facts under construction, the crystal light returns.
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