If I could write the truth, I would.
But I can’t.
Words are simply mirrors. Nothing but mirrors.
We are not our words. Our words reflect who we
are.
The truth laughs at the mind. Not a mocking
laughter. A grandfather laughing at his teenage grandson's naïve rebellion.
Tick tock. Come back. Tick tock. Come back.
Tick tock. Come back.
Why?
And again, laughter.
Tick, tock. Come back. Tick tock. Come back.
Tick tock. Come back.
This
is boring!
And again, laughter.
Tick, tock. Come back. Tick tock. Come back. Tick
tock. Come back.
I’m
going to break the clock!
And again, laughter.
Tick, tock. Come back. Tick tock. Come back.
Tick tock. Come –
The pieces of glass sparkling through their
flight, the clock's needles invisible on nature’s transparent carpet.
And again, laughter.
Followed by silence.
Followed by confusion.
What?
And again, laughter.
What
now?
And again, laughter.
This
isn’t funny! This is horrible! Help me! I don’t understand!
And this time, a soft laughter.
Don’t worry. You are my blood. You cannot get
lost, unless that is what you choose.
But
how could I not choose that?
By letting go.
