Zheus tells

A short story. a couple passing by, touching and talking to each other. Fighting I suppose, they where using their hands often. Near the lake, a writter was with his grandchild, watching pidgeons in the air.
the garden was immaculate. Near the tree, my grandmother lying dead. Rain. a baby girl next to her, rehearsing her future walks.
On the outskirts of my dream, I could spot a river, a big mountain with snow on top. Search the gold he said.



reign of awareness. of silence, of beauty and peace. Space in the world, nature invades humans. One last dot. Com.


And songs are the poetry of love
And crying is the lyrism of Help me