From reel to real
She walked towards him. Every step of hers, underlined with grace and appealing mannerisms. "Why do you act so helpless?", her voice echoing through the audience. He stared back at her with no efforts to contain the irritation. "Oh! So . . .
The dormant state
In an inquisitive tone, he asked her, "You haven't been writing lately, right?" "Hmm", came the reply. As if to avoid sounding . . .
It was all chaos. Her world was falling apart. She blindly climbed the flight of stairs and reached the apartment. Standing in front of the french window, she examined the massive expanse of the land that lay before her. Barren and empty like her own . . .
She pressed the disconnect button and threw the phone in full force. It banged against the wooden cupboard and fell open. The child came running and wondered what had happened. A wave of frustration arose in her. Anger, despair, . . .
Like a hurting muscle
“Can you knead my feet please?” Hearing him, she instantly sat down on the floor. Supporting her self on her right elbow, she leaned against the bedside, where he was tucked away in the blanket. The clock pointed to . . .
I watched them liking enslaving writings. Writings about the lovers they lost,
the battles they fought and the depressing stuff. They joyously spent,
a dozen and a half minutes, in reading poems of heartbroken girls . . .
He had always accused her of being too emotional. Even as she sobbed through the pain in her hand, he said don’t cry like a child. The last she heard him was in the air, a few thousand miles above the European continent, . . .