Birds that were not birds but flying paper figures around haphazardly, hoping for a glance or a gesture, to take their own life and not be guided by the threads where they were subject. In the room, time was slipping through his fingers like a handful of sand. The window was open and the bars, cold air coming in, pulled the strings of colorful carousel that is tangled in her hair.
-head high and do not be afraid, "he said to himself, while combing against the rusty mirror, convinced that the birds were in his head, were merely the product of many nights lost in their dreams.
-head high and do not be afraid, "he said to himself, while combing against the rusty mirror, convinced that the birds were in his head, were merely the product of many nights lost in their dreams.
(Written for the challenge of micro fourteenth Forum Neverland)
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