Tuesday, 29 March 2011

I dream of trees

Sometimes when it's the hour of night when I wake up and stare deep into the dark of the clouds and the stars that sometimes peek through, sometimes when it's the darkest shade of the night and I wake up and try to think of Papa and wonder if he would come talk to me one last time, there was so much left unsaid, so much in that last breath that he took before my eyes, sometimes when it's a black night that the bats colour a shade darker, I dream of trees. I dream of trees and the lonely bird singing on those trees. But the song has little meaning when all I want to hear is that familiar voice calling my name. It never does. It never will. I dream of trees and my dreams have, of late, become soundless, and a little darker than they ever were.

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