Paper Birds

All mornings, bright birds show up at my window. Their jubilant canticles light up my room like sunbeams, displacing darkness back to its recondite corners. All the habitants of my dreams recluse themselves in the oniric reflection of my vivid reality.

My eyes adjust to the light, while my logic mind still battles to discern if my nightmares were just a product of my imagination. If people had truly visited me last night. If the events I witnessed were indeed an omen of the future. And if the fears embodied in beasts haunting me, were, in fact, real.

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The Man with the Thousand Names

“Since immemorial times the man has been aware of uncanny forces that surround him,” the presenter addressed the public cramming the theatre. “Forces imperceptible to the naked eye, but that nobody dares to refuse their existence—Magic!”—said raising his hand scenically—“It’s an honor for me to introduce to you the person whose name it’s synonymous of mystery.”

“My queue,” I muttered to myself standing behind the curtains at the backstage, making sure my bowtie was properly aligned.

The presenter stepped aside and waved his hand, “Please welcome, the magnificent Harvey and his fabulous magic show!!!”

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While the Wind Gently Weeps

During the creation, God first whispered “dream” and immediately after he said “wind.”

“You are the wind, the messenger that will carry the dreams in the form of words to the ears of people.”

A daunting task indeed, so many dreams, a world of words, so much to tell, very little time.

Long is the journey that travels the wind, from north to south, from east to west. His freedom has become his prison, because he is only an admirer of life, from which he is not participant. The wind wanders in anonymity, everyone is aware of his existence but just a few truly know him.

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