JUNE 24, 2007
Sunday, the cool afternoon breeze signals a few more hours of quiet time before the inevitable manic Monday. Face slightly tilted looking at the sky. Old sleepy eyes caged in thick lenses see the world in utmost joy. Surrounded by people as precious as the life giving air, powerful than any panacea; soothing than any aroma, he knew that life can’t get any better. A magic cellar filled not with expensive wine but with bottled up memories able to extinguish the deepest thirst of the soul, filling with ease even the steepest cliffs, even the great Marianas. He spends his idle time unearthing piled up memories. He believes that life has a meaning only if you can find comfort in your memories, for him it was greatest of all escape.
Heaven spoils the afternoon and sends a mild reminder through the convergence of day and night. Casting a shadow on the land where an army of little lights crown the sky, tattooed like spits of white paint on your favorite black shirt. You could just loose yourself while staring at the vast labyrinth of constellations winding in your imagination. Breathing in with the silence, he simplifies the complexities of life. In the darkness he was contemplating how to placate his army of ideas, unstable as the sun’s layer, shooting up random thoughts millions of kilometers across the universe.