Fairytales

 

“Do you believe in fairytales?” You asked him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. God, he felt good. It felt good; your head was meant to lie, right there, on him.
“Only women believe in fairytales.”
“Only women believe in fairytales…yes…but who writes them?”
It is women who want love, and men who understand it.
It is women who believe in fairytales, and men who write them.
It is women who want to be a man’s last love, and men who want to be a woman’s first true romance.
Women and men and all the words they use to get what they want.
Sticks and stones may break your bones, but it’s words that break a heart…

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A Sad, Sad Symphony

Old Francisc Goyer had been working on his symphony for too long to even remember. It was supposed to be his masterpiece, his magnum opus. At times he was afraid, and with some reason, that he might never finish it.
But that night he had a dream: instruments being played by angels. Such a profound mastery hid beneath their long, white as marble fingers that he began to scribble notes on a piece of paper, his hand trembling under the weight of such a clear and extraordinary vision. Inside his head, the instruments kept playing in a miraculous way that couldn’t be explained, but couldn’t be denied either.
It was real. The music was coming from somewhere far, far away; a muffled concoction of sounds. And Francisc feared to do anything other than write. He was afraid to light a cigarette or even drink a glass of water. The symphony could dissolve into the stifled air of the living room, and all would be lost. Continue reading