WINNING

The weakness is giving away its fishing line eager to wind it back, but I don’t take the bait. In the flight there is some kind of silence and solitude, it is only me and the predator; no one in the world knows my whereabouts, it may seem I lost the course, ironically now, when things are happening, when I am blossoming. Populating a one cherry tree field, looks like a defeat, a postcard which colors were washed away by the exposure to the elements. There is only one road, one moment, one chance and a lot of hard work must to be done. And it is to be written that it will be with my only help, sweating under a blazing sun, a pickaxe and a shovel, my hands and feet, and my branches bending by the weight of the fruits. I am fixed in a square decameter, running away in slow motion from common places, silly poses and washed brains. Seeding the forgotten rhythm of growth, drop by drop, moisturizing the deserted wasteland, turning it into a garden that resembles Eden’s. I chose the imprisonment; my prudential distance from the crowd is voluntary, I like my open air confinement under clear skies, they are so blue it is far from reality. It may be stubbornness or my recently acquired last model knowledge that makes me not having ears for the interference noises, but to be sincere, letting go the sense of loss is addictive. As i collect less and less goods (and bads), being with empty closets and empty pockets is allowing this lonely racer to win herself. B_Nour