from: "malina"
title: ...
form: text; e-mail letter

What a heavy burden pulls us towards itself...When we turn our faces to the mirror like the illuminating flame of a candle, we would see a clumsy image flowing towards the time.

We wait for what lies deeper, for what stands in front of us with its dreamy appearance which can be drawn by horses mischievous and whose impact on the time is unseen, with our tongues remaining tied and suffering the pains given by some dark forces, for what will see the things lying in front of us before we do.

Steps we began to take inwards at the night where all colors befriend, where all colors will be able to stand in each other, look like disease which does not cure a slow and tedious narration.

What are contaminated beneath are suppressed by the colors waving on the top...one proceeds to the state of forgetting. What we see in those width-less and shapeless reflections as ourselves is a travel equal to the time, and it humiliates us with our power to remove the pain from its source and to own it among discretion which can be cast to the wind in fact...

And the image appearing in the mirror acts with all of its senses first to prohibit the hands from touching...The eye dreams of other senses, which it can at least monitor, with the colors available...

And what the mirror will reveal, just like a curtain going up at a mischievous act of a play, is us ourselves...

What we should know at the end that our image in the mirror will disappear while our eyes are tightly closed, without deception, with a slight smile on our faces, right before the curtain goes down. It is the mirror that shows us, and that makes us forget, that life gains consciousness by means of dreaming.