You are holding a fire in the middle of night.
The dark side has been shined with its radiant light.
I am watching in the very close distant of you.
Sleepless and in silence.
In a minute later, you started telling me a story.
About the relationship of moon, northern lights, and butterflies.
In the words so incredible and the imaginary scenes so beautiful.
I am listening, in a very careful interpretation.
Not until the story is finished,
You held my hands. Took me to a dance. Following the movement of fire.
I was talking loudly, “I wanted my story back!”
You told me “no worries, nor being rush.
Not all the stories need to be ended.
Because, it is just the matter of creating the final line.
And apart from the story teller, anyone else can fill in that work”.
I am dancing in silence.
With a joyful comes to pieces.