Forlorn hope

 

I went back to that book. The one where I’ve always buried my worries deep within its pages, I returned fearing rejection, opened the doors of oblivion to find it asleep under grief and huge piles of unshed tears. Letters shivered from joy as soon as I caressed the edges of the pages. Their dots sang a melancholic tune spiced with a trace of happiness.

Then, suddenly, I heard a distant echo inquiring: “What brought you back? Did you come to dry the remained ink and cry the candles to burn us once again with the flow of your tears?” Nostalgia replied:” Welcome back, anything new in your life? I sharpened the pencil centuries ago awaiting this moment, come back pencil, my good old friend, wake up, your turn now”…

Pencil responded with an ancient chaotic tipsy voice:” I don’t remember any letter no more; I’ve been worn out, I’ve faded away by the winter of old age”…

 

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About Ymn

انا المرأة الزوبعة فقل للنخيل يطأطئ حتى أمرّ
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