He stared at the young flames that devoured the curtains. He was reflecting, lost in a million of reflections. He reflected about nothing, thought about everything, about no one, about everyone. He thought in peace, far from everything. From the burning carpets, from the flaming furniture, from the exploding TV.
He stood up, walked to the window, flew out of the balcony. His mane waving in the void, his thougths flew free. They flew over crowded streets, green parks, charming lakes. He floated over nothingness, blind, deaf.
He suddenly felt he was thinking of something, something specific. He knew he wanted to go back home. He closed his eyes.
He opened them again, and stared in silence at the old flames that devoured the curtains.
Inspired and written (in Spanish) while I listened to "Touch me I'm going to scream Part II" of My Morning Jacket. Sponsored by my altered sleeping hours.
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