The Oil Stain and the Painting
| *takes a deep breath and enjoy the breeze coming from the balcony, listening to it as if it were a whisper* Since that is another story and I am too busy telling this one, I’ll just start in the middle… I still dream of him and sometimes in my dreams I still find the clues he leaves for me there. He had faith in me, a strong one, and since I made the same mistake (I guess we could call it that if we had to call it something). *smiles* The clues… the prints… the whispers that are there but aren’t… Even in his last breath he still wanted me to know so many things that he did and it’s through these dream clues that he’s trying to honor his promises. I guess I still have lots of cramming to do before graduation. |
| *winks* Now… I do believe I was telling you all a different story, a more recent one… I had tried using some magic to find what the ‘spot’ really was. The trick, I found out, was to use fresh river water (the river never stops its course and its threads of water are thinner threads of tales and stories), a stone (its harsh surface slows down the water) and earth (its never ending, never starting life remembers all it ‘sees’) along with gray paper, the really rare one (so I could freeze his trace). And after I went through all this trouble getting the spot on paper into something I could understand, reading it proved to be the REALLY hard part. I, as per usual, instantly got so caught up in my regular “look-at-me-I-can-do-awesome-stuff-too” mood and began to burn energy without realizing it. Imagine my surprise when I realized that my trance had taken me from reading spots on gray paper and hurled me into the past. |
Leave a Reply