how can i not stop to see you, your hair sparkles like sunshine on clear water. i think i hear you reciting stories of kings and the psalms on your miradors. but i never see your lips move, in the garden of the orange trees.
we – M, D and i – were reading poems to each other. each sounded like a masterpiece. and we were ecstatic.
i was having dinner with a few friends who didn’t exist in real life in a ground floor flat with a wide window looking to the garden. two of them were couples. the bell rang and the girl went to the door. the boy was suspicious. i now can’t remember whether the guest was male or female but it was somebody whom the boy felt jealous of.
i and another set of friends went to the graves of two deceased friends. but they were no gravesite. they were buried in a corner in an empty dilapidated house. we drew two rectangles with a colored chalk – one is taller than the other – and damaged the floor within. we did a short chant and a friend of mine even walked on what’s supposed to be the heads. in just a short while, we saw movements from below the earth. the dead woke up like they had only been sleeping. everyone let out a satisfied cheer.