She arrived in the way she usually arrive, awkwardly and gangly, and looking at everything informing questions in her head. Occasionally she would get the nerve to ask the question. That is how she was, the young genius herself
They were all so beautiful
Said the man, now in a cave
I've a memory like Facebook
It goes on and on
Every smile and nose, and curve of the cheek stored here
He tapped his head
He seemed lost for a moment then he seemed to find a different himself:
There is this, and just this? All my works are to eat sweet melon from my own fingers standing at the fridge? The getting up at five, still confused from dreams, to work to make a dream reality?
Then he was sad
I don't even know what... I don't remember my dreams at night, and when I work I wonder this: Is the dream a nightmare?
Now he was breathing heavily, seated to left on the couch, leaving room for someone that would sit if there was a someone
But I remember them all, all the beautiful face