Sewing machine

I want a sewing machine. Thus, for materializing dreams of fabric and building them the way I want them to be. To avoid looking at the sky, wishing upon a star. To make things real or make it seem like they are.

Marvelous it is, to learn the art of creating something that can be worn with pride, appreciated and even paid for… like a love received with reciprocal feeling and eternal tear-surpassing smiles. You can even fix what appears to be a little torn… like broken hearts revive at certain new dawns.

There is no room for coward excuses, or misleading signals, when things as this lay in front of you: rolled wool sheets, paper patterns, scissors and thread.

Peace may come between your mind and your heart while you sew. Hands busy, imagination and intellect working shoulder to shoulder. A verse chanted many winters ago, that has been traveling the world, sleeping on park benches and drinking rain drops, collapses completely at the sound of the needle moving up and down.

Being my wish more vain than the way I portrayed it, I must add a finishing line: Everything is valid in love and… when you write.


Once upon a time…

How strange it all can be. He was dancing in her imagination ever since she could remember, taking different shapes and playing with different scenarios, changing along with years but constant with time… deceiving her with apparent long ago known faces.

There was just him and her, somewhere… Talks came like rain in the desert, desired but paused, pleasant, not rushed. Something is alive. Talks also came like a fierce chess match, fights of will and mind, a world of misunderstandings being too strongly yearned to be solved and being absurdly pushed away to be ignored… she called him a jerk, he called her uncivilized. Goodbye.

She met him by chance on a sunny day. He knew her from somewhere, she knew exactly from where. Reunited in a foreign place for both of them, but in different ways… he knew his way around the city but he was not born in that place. Again and again, they saw each other, went to an island of museums, memorized buildings passing by through the window of a passenger’s car, listened to a piano plaid by agile hands; they lived love on the making, tried soup and digested green together, visited  family, welcomed their child, sang along music, poetry and life.

She opened her eyes, it was time to sleep now… daydreaming, what a captivating vice that was.