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Remembering the SeasonsUnder a cozy couch, she snuggled down her body wrapped in a warm blanket. Feeling the chilly wind caressing her face entering the room from an open wooden window showing the breathtaking view of the snow covered garden. Simultaneously she pressed the play button on the remote control of the DVD player. A cup of hazelnut flavored coffee held tight between her soft hands; she was watching a romantic movie. The atmosphere outside the house and the drama inside the idiot box resembled in the same frequency as fire reminds you of passion. Relationships were cold and haste between the characters and the streets were freezing and deserted. But in this bitterness, she was enjoying the heat of the summers residing in the ambience around her personal vicinity and the spring touched her heart with the flower motive embroidered on her jacket resting upon her left breast carrying the love organ.
This was the first paragraph that Mr. Teva read in the book titled Falling Leaves. The book e
She smacked the door on her boyfriend's face and walked out of his apartment, subsequently from his life and from everyone's life including her own. She didn't even take a raincoat when she knew it gotta rain. Anger does that to you. It had to shower heavily according to the weather forecast and she trusted the sources, as if prediction is true to its core and every trust isn't a betrayal. But the forecasts don't matter anymore nor the people when you know that you will die today anyways. Suicide will be her last action and she wasn't happy about that but she saw no other choice, she was desperate.
She took a train, even though she didn't know the destination. She needed time to think. She already had made her mind about the suicide but she needed to think about the medium. Medium, that will be pain free. She had suffered so many pains in her short life that her tolerance had ended long before. Only one vacant seat left on the train, she sat there beside a man older than her. She sat a
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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