The two chairs in front of each other, one occupied and the other with just the shadow, the smell, just this much.

The two cups ordered, one with coffee and the other empty. And it goes on. Just the repetition nothing else and nothing more. Trying to revive the bygone but never it will be the same. There is shadow, there is smell, there is feeling, there is sounds and rhythms, there is laughter, there is smiles, there is tears.

Everything singular or are made to be a singular kind of thing. The winged dreams. The hope that the winged dreams bring. They fly to and fro…they fly indeed they fly to and fro. Like the pendulum to and fro…nothing random.

Everything planned, hopefully by fate not by anyone else. The electromagnetic waves killing the distance in between…the decreasing balance and increasing heartbeat…The soothing waves in the ears. Like the lullaby, but never giving sleep.

The telephone in the salty water…shit ! it started working the other day.