I can hear them at night, whispering to each other endlessly. Mixing passages and chapters; making up poetry. Books just cannot keep quiet.
The letters I meant to send you keep making love in a restless orgy.They’ve reinvented my words, mixed them, reproduced.I hear them moaning.
Spices in the kitchen keep jumping from one jar to the other.They talk about past spice routes, fantastic tales, ocean routes and travelers.
Photos on the wall chat away the day.The last between two people are regarded as wise and tell the others stories about past and future gone.
Tap, ballet, flamenco and everyday shoes dance while I am not watching. They tap, click, whirl, jump, step, and slide: all together.
Casseroles in my kitchen rattle impatiently. They are not dreaming about Beef bourguignon, they want to make noise and occupy the streets.
Series originally posted in 6 tweets @minafiction. It might keep growing.
Serie originalmente publicada en 6 tuits @minafiction. Podría seguir creciendo.