Coming back into the room he sees her standing by the window looking onto the town below.
“What is so interesting outside that you cannot find inside?”
Something about the way he says that line. As if there was a camera in the room recording the whole scenario, his voice deepens and his arms fold themselves around her waist.
“You know what this window reminds me of?” asks the girl without answering his question.
Really, he is her inspiration. The one trigger slowly tearing down the wall of The Woman - Child and bearing her into this naked Artist. Slowly. And though, she stands there mesmerized by the place itself not yet realising that evolution has started.
She turns to him. If there was ever a moment to be paused this was it. Vibrations..
They are from such different worlds and yet they stand there in their own world. With its own name.
“Remember Peter Pan? Peter`s room had an identical arched window. This wall .. ” she points ” This wall bared their reflection, shadows of Peter and Wendy, same as now you can see the shadow of you and me.”
Certain childish way about the way she delivers the line makes him smile but he keeps it to himself. Silence stretches and yet it is anything but uncomfortable. His lips widen into a smile and “Wendy” senses a glimpse of recognition in his eyes.
“I will never think of this window in another way.” says Peter.
They kissed at that same window the next night & the next morning.
And then God decides to plant this place called Heathrow Airport into their storyline and separates them till “God knows when”. That window still awaits …
That pain was not pleasure
Pulse pulsated to its max
Torn forgot he should guard his Rose
Love forgot itself somewhere along the lines of anger.
Unpredictable as jazz
Consciously turning off her senses
She couldn’t turn off her vision.
There he was:
“Me in his eyes,
fear in mine.
Anger was his enemy
and he was mine.”
“Now I was pulsating on the grip of his wrist.”
Wrist of a Man.
Fear of a Boy.
Fingers of a bass Player,
playing with her life.
His present chased by his past:
“I wasn’t first and neither was I last.”
Question mark upon how to reach the institution of peace when you The Artist become you The Genius. They say perfection does not exist, yet why do I see it?
Should i commit ISOLATION or STATE OF LOVE?
Mother always said: ” Only believe in what you see with your own eyes. “
We disagreed on numerous occasions but I do, I see perfection. Mum was right! Call me crazy but I can only be blamed for the burning ambition given to me by day one.
Maybe to paint the words more society friendly .. lets say, I see Love. Its the highest form of magic and its powers are often taken for granted. With my pen i draw the lines of Love and to make it justice I need to capture its essence. Love is the highest form of perfection a human being can inhale or exhale.
… i believe i was 7 or 8 years old when i sketched this…
Jewish boy during World War 2 with his new shoes.
(its pencil & chalk)
…it got published in the school paper, ha:)
I thought Id put something thats a part of me as my first post eh!