Like sparkles drawn out of the world’s back pocket and contentedly strewn across the many passages of human souls, this one is no less and no more remarkable than any other morsel of life. With every turning page the scene folds into a silent crease, exposing countless wonders. I recognize the piano man uniting a world of strangers in a glitter of song and spirit. I gingerly turn a page or two, and let the resemblance touch me deeply as I become witness to the portrait of another man sitting at a piano, smoking a cigar, and the bartender mesmerized by the piece, wordlessly looking on. Could I still call it a sparkle or a glint that won’t outlast time, but under the gaze of the universe is itself a miracle? Maybe that is why my fingers turn each page with adoration and reverence, tending a full heart to every marvel, every glimmer, aware that each is only a visitor.<\/p>\n
And here you plucked a star from the sky and shone its light on an entity, which mirrored a piece of your own soul. The vital glow in your eyes had me longing to hear your heart’s utterance. Are they feelings or words I recall? I do not know. In this brief interval of time we stood on your page alone and I can only tell it in retrospect as I stir the past in the depths of my memory: Red. In the whispers of the night , majestically present, poised between natural self-composure and calm – without any doubt a lady. A matriarch, noble, maybe discreetly proud, never pretentious , always graceful. Here when all around springs to life, here, when the day falls silent. I guess these are the instants that melt before our eyes and vanish into our hearts. They are attached to chairs and red-capped robins, to quivering lips and rising suns and to books filled with pages, read and put aside. Just a twinkle, the same visitors, coming and going – let us honor them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Like sparkles drawn out of the world’s back pocket and contentedly strewn across the many passages of human souls, this one is no less and no more remarkable than any other morsel of life. With every turning page the scene folds into a silent crease, exposing countless wonders. I recognize the piano man uniting a world of strangers in a glitter of song and spirit. I gingerly turn a page or two, and let the resemblance touch me deeply as I become witness to the portrait of another man sitting at a piano, smoking a cigar, and the bartender mesmerized by the piece, wordlessly looking on. Could I still call … Pages of life<\/span> weiterlesen