Monday, April 04, 2005

Journal Archive: Through A Window

I'm looking in a window. A small window from a building that doesn't exist. From a window that has no frames, and neither a glass. But still a window.

The sky is shining blue. Small clouds chasing each other above the dancing green grass, while the sun smiles gently as they all play.

I'm looking in a window. A small window from a building that doesn't exist. From a window that has no frames, and neither a glass. But still a window.

The rain is pouring hard. It's a storm. Lightning flashing, striking the earth with anger. Burning everything it touches. Flames. Flames that can't even be burned out by the strong wind ripping off the trees and buildings from their foundations. Destruction. Totally, and nothing saved.

I'm looking in a window. A small window from a building that doesn't exist. From a window that has no frames, and neither a glass. But still a window.

Just an image from a window. A window that can show millions of images in a second. The brain recording each and every detail it can see. Part painful, part beautiful. And many times unbearable, with either horror or delight. Still recording ...

I'm looking in a window. A small window from a building that doesn't exist. From a window that has no frames, and neither a glass. But still a window.

A vague image appears in the window. This one apart from the millions of images. It's from the invisible glass itself, not from beyond it. An image that is somehow glued to the glass, but not framed by the window. I recognize this one. Yes, definitely! It's ... it's me.

Wait, is it me? Is it really me? I seem so ... different.

My eyes. A look from a small child with innocence, with truth, and with sadness, having to let go of his bright orange balloon. Watching it silently fade away in the blue morning summer sky. "Good-bye," not knowing what it really means.

The skin of my face looks so rough and burned by the strong harsh sun with scars all over. But not entirely, just part of it, creating a new layer of skin. A mask. To hide and bury the old.

My lips are closed by the secret it hides. The dark secret of a world it knows. A world made of hope and love but flourished hate and anger.

Yes, that is me. But not me completely!!

Look deeper in those eyes!! Can't you see the small little smile it still has from the laughter and joy? From every game it once played? From every love it once touched? Look!

Yes, my skin may seem rough and hard, but made from all the tenderness and warmth of the flowing blood running deep inside through my veins. Each cell giving it's purity to nourish both the old and new skin. Not a mask!

My lips, not only holding the dark secrets it knows but also a sweet taste from another. A taste made of a very special ingredient, mixed by delicate hands. Yes, I once tasted it. And it is still there, on my lips.

That is me!! Look closely, and don't be fooled by the first impressions I show. They're not completely true. Don't get fooled by yourself. Look!!

I'm looking in a window. A small window from a building that doesn't exist. From a window that has no frames, and neither a glass. But still a window.

Everything is starting to get out of focus. So I close my eyes.

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