Night's prose

A Story by dadist poetic

On the tunes of Ibrahim Maaluf's "last wishes", surrounded by the three walls which decide to leave their place and travel their way to oblivion, and a staircase replacing the forth wall, I decide to travel on my own way beyond the bounds of my skin .

My feet laid on the cold glass surface of the tea table in front of me, accompanied by the dark silence of another night, which fills the voids of this empty room, I close my eyes and let myself elevate through the staircase of my own soul and mind, and move with the three walls to dimensions of my own choice.

I see the other half of my destined soul, my own glass reflection of the opposite sex, my desire, my joyful anguish, my speaking mind, my stimulated ambition, my dearest friend, my beloved.

I see him walking down the streets which names I don't know, but do remember. Down the streets which I know by heart, every corner of them, the smell of air and mist and the rain on their asphalt. Streets which I do recognize but their name I don't know of.

And I'm walking along , extending my soul and a hand to hold, down the streets my cold feet on that cold surface have stepped on and felt their rough pumps and turns. Streets which have our steps carved into them, every step speaks whispered words and long silences. I walk down the streets which names I don't know of, but do remember and recognize. .