Arcadia

54

Secrets whispered among vanished trees, human secrets transpired from time before the sun, before the elemental witches conjured a myriad of melodies to take over the Silence. The silence of the other earth deeper than gloom, engulfing in its emptiness. And I see without my eyes, a distortion of immorality reflecting the warm darkness of an illusive metropolitan twilight. It's an enchanted city, where the yellow squares of windows guard ancient secrets. I am everywhere, at the door, by the window, looking up from the street. I am everything. I am within and without, an elusive rhythm, the fragment of a sentence lost in a wisp of air. A promise treasured in a glass case, on the verges of melancholy, blurred into a riot of colours, almost remembered, but never to be spoken of. Like the memories of other lives.