words are supposed to be spoken
but words often speaks for themselves
stories are supposed to be unfold
but unfolding it needs an epic of an imaginary
one mind flies
fly from reality
lets write, one think
when each words collide with another
making sentences and sentences
until it reveals a script of stories
one a white sheet of paper
a subject to provoke another mind
a material to dissolve in another heart
to hate
to love
its a choice
to choose the right reflection of life
see how an ink sinks
and stayed there faithfully
waiting to be known
its an idea that never dies
never afraid of its own shadows
mind you, its not just a story
its an emotional journey
of one particular person
to capture the hearts and minds of another
making it, its almost magic
sometimes it never ends
like the blue sky floor
the deep unpredictable ocean
the blossoming flowers
the birds chirping singing a sunny song
the rise of the sun every wake of dawn
the rise of the moon when darkness falls
the rythm of the wind thats almost like a lullaby
makes us wonder
how life is such a beauty
the essence of it is in our heart
sometimes we found it
sometimes we dont
thats when a story plays a role
opening our eyes not just to look
but to see
what we cant before
when the magic begins
the words are born
the sentences grows
and a story are now unfold
and a big white door
is open for us
to fly and to dream something beyond
our own sets of boundaries.
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