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.
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