“Even if her leaves were on the ground, her presence was soft.” @oldsoulview
Photo taken by @oldsoulview (Neris Dipsov) Instagram account.
The hopes of some worlds fall into the dreams of hopeless worlds. There appear curtains where puppets play. A dream passes through every game. Loops and games are inseparable. Our shadows that roam the world, too, are imprisoned in eternity, in the cycle of the time creature. It was not a Borges eternity, freed from the weight of the idea of God. The curtain opened and closed. Keeping the heart soft was as difficult as concealing the pain at the wound where a murderer had stabbed the body with his knife. Puppet darkness clings to their bleeding hopes in every endless loop. The hostile tugging words on the girl's fallen dream were thrown on the screen. As her heart bled from the hunted waters of the hunter's hostile waters, she received the healing of a gentle love of God. While dreams were gnawing at hopes one after another, love was bringing magic to dreams from the hands of God. Then it was seen that the idea of a God that weighed heavily on the girl's swaying dreams did not sway her. It was the love of the volatile and light being that engulfed her dreams. Thus, the dream of hell in the Godlessness of the endless loop came to an end for the girl. Unhealthy seeds could not be planted in the dreams of those who woke up from the dream. Even though the girl's hopes were shattered in her sleep, her presence was still soft. The dreams of God, eternity and the girl merged into being. The puppets of the curtain recited a poem by Rilke and died.
By Neris Dipsov
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