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Fictional Mumblings

The discourse of a mistake

This world, the world enclosed within these walls, not the world beyond the window, just the world within these walls, is a ballroom.  Its people are gaudily dressed, horribly mismatched dancers.The orchestra is unseen but its power is unyielding. With the beat of a drum, the stacatto rhythym of an otherly trumpet, dancers are brought together from across a crowded room.  Close enough to lace your hand through his hair, near enough to hear her heart’s whisper. Strangers too are soon friends. Hands and feet shimmy together, eyes shine with laughter, hearts weigh heavily the happiness of a dance. The rest of that world melts away.  The orchestra always unpredictable, masterful in its direction is a wily, old conductor of our steps.   Sometimes  soft, mellow, like a twinkling of rain on a late Summer’s day, other times we struggle to keep atrot.

And just as suddenly, the music stops, we drift apart, disorientated. Un moment….  There are stars in our eyes.  Just a moment too long.  But soon with fresh eyes and a jaded glint, our ears full from listening what we refused to hear, we are on our way to some other place, with some other people.

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