The universe
"Do you see me?"
"Yes. You're right there."
"No. Do you See me?"
Stares.
"What are those?"
"Eyes."
"What is in them?"
"The universe.
My universe."
"Like a place where you can go?"
"Yes. And stay."
"I've never looked at eyes like that."
"Yours are like burning wood."
"No one ever seen that in my eyes."
"You knew that about yourself?"
"Yes. ...maybe I stared to much at the mirror."
"You were looking for yourself."
"Perhaps. Still I feel like didn't find what I was looking for."
"You're a place where people can stay and sometimes call home."
"Am I? Like tree; a good old mother tree?"
Smiles - "Yes."
"A place like you; vast and full of so many different things?"
"A place with a wall. Concrete. There aren't many that can go in. There aren't many that can see through. I can. Thank you for letting me in. I can now see different colors and shapes. I can see what's rotten, dirty and what you were able to clean; what was broken and left on the floor and what was already recollected; what you kept and struggle to let go; the things you layed on the carpet that make you pace around trying to understand if it's yours or not. You come out of your confusing land, putting almost automatically the armor to protect yourself, hiding behind that wall which was so hard to build (you didn't really want to built, you did it blindly, behind your own back), you let yourself feel numb. It was too much, too fast, too heavy; the filter was not ready. You built that wall so insanity wouldn't rule your place, even though it feels like it did. It bruised it. You kept the place closed but you didn't let go. Saved it. And now I can be happy to be here, even if it's just for a little while."
Tears roll down the face.
