the voice

I hold my old unicorn close to my chest and listen to her whispering... What is it about the words of the mystical beings, that right after you hear them, you forget? I'm quite sure, that all she was telling, were very important things. And just like after any other dream, I wake up with a slight feeling of emptiness and yet- hope, that I will see her again and then listen more carefully. 

I draw her portraits, try to outguess her name and call her, I ask others if anybody has seen her, but all remains the same- she comes when she's willing and speaks the words I keep forgetting... I can only hope, that my body remembers, so I can dance it out... and as I listen to the distant drumming I dance with every cell and embrace every story, every emotion, that I'm given. Cry out loud from my chest the dreams of tomorrow...

And then she comes again- on a blank sheet of paper she leaves her trace and whispers gently the most important things...

...someday.

I'll remember. 

at 27

... finding childhood lullabies and dress buttons somehow exceptionally moving. 

... it's difficult to explain how things that You should have been crazy about at 14 and weren't, are so meaningful  now. How those things suddenly make You understand what You were supposed to hear back then, what were supposed to be the lessons... 

And it actually makes me smile, while thinking about it... I guess we all have our own time for the dialogue.