CONNECTION

She travels and would love to travel alone just to gain experiences that money won’t buy her. She is a bit of narcissist because she finds her interesting and a mystery to herself. No matter what she does, she is bombarded with love in one form or the other. May it be a stroke of sunshine on the bottle-green wine bottles in the living room or a breeze that makes her imagination run wild.

A person can die between the pages of a notebook and still keep breathing. This death is mercy. The existence is fired up. Smokes do not carry the traces of burnt words. The last moments are breathed out in a hiss as fire slowly devours the ink. There must have…

Little did they know her eyes were fixed on the forbidden route; on a small patch of land which was white and glistening against all the black around, where moonbeam danced with the rustling of leaves, where a part of her will was already resting, calling her to name that virgin land with her definition of destiny.