LIFE ON THE FRINGES

What an insignificant structure of molecules the mirror is reflecting today! Such a massive bulk of atoms conforming fibers worn out by the old dream of reaching the moon. I used to be at the edge, now I make my bed on a faults area on the fringes, so I can pretend to rest, but the conquered peace is deceptive, it can crack at any time and drop me on a mere safety net with a hole in it, right my size and shape. Can I turn in to a strider? I want to experiment what is to walk on water and feel so light that I can challenge its surface tension. I see amethyst and fuchsia orbs as I my eyes get flooded by the art of juggle simultaneously with the joy and the sorrow. Walking was a march, echoes of dozens of pairs of heels hitting the ground in different rhythms and tempos, crossing together the cosmos. How it happened that I only hear a couple? No company, no torment, no fair weather, transitional phases or flameless embers. True or false? What is the winning prize answer? There is a possibility of error; I can’t forget that whichever conclusions I extract, they are based on the information that I have right now, an outrageous feelings convention. How precise I was in the manufacture of this cluster bricks, how tender my dedication. There was not a moment without love, a look around without a smile or exhaled breath without kindness… May I expect back for my change? Or is it inadequate in these cases to make use of the right of having expectations? I am in the kindergarten of human interaction; I get misled by chance to the point of being jailed in a place which I reach following free decisions. I still can breathe and smell the pure scent of my ego; what is going on there, as I look in the eyes of the walking by strangers, that… that is a whole different kettle. B_Nour