Glimpses of Life by Björn T. Prehna
Episode IV -
„A Place called Home“ “How many more?”
I looked up from over the rim of the box that was weighing heavily in my hands, the pressing air of still dusty summer-haze swaying in tiny flocks of burning white and silver before my vary eyes. The echoing of remembered laughter and joy welled up from beneath every step I took into the world of tiny fireflies, miniature stars burning out their breaths in the golden light of summer’s waking.
“Only a few I think.”
She was kneeling on the floor, the fiery glitter of amber shining from beneath her slender, ivory legs, with her hands roaming wildly in the memories of gone-by years and the sensation of something utterly new and exciting. I took my time to look around the place, the open, half-empty boxes filling the still empty room with a strange mixture of liveliness and open questions, nagging anxieties of futures to come. She was now here, with me; I could feel her presence radiating like the flow of golden autumn sun against my shivering skin. Warmth and laughter started to flow in
and fill the room beneath my eyes before the day was even drawing to a close under the slowly falling, ever-watching eye of burning fire. Sunlight fell in through the windows, flooded through the translucent shimmer like a golden veil, the colour of newly risen day painting the walls in a rainbow of faint violet and burning amber. As I watched, the sun made its round, peeked in into the tiny place with its warmly shining, wooden face. Fire welled up in the tiny spaces, the walls and ceiling burning in the warm shimmer of autumnâ€™s sealing promises. The sound of breathing, a fresh breeze of the chilly wind flowing into the cosy getaway with the sound of paper rustling in the air and the memories of laughter and joy of gone summer days floating on its cool touch. The hour of a new time. I had never thought of this place as something to stay, something warm and comforting. But now it was different, the place had changed under the magical caress of sunlightâ€™s hands. She was here with me now, the tiniest flicker of a reach away, close enough to hear her breathing over the silent song of late summerâ€™s wind. I looked back at her, her silent content as she kneeled on the floor by my side, golden strands floating along ivory skin hiding the deep sensation of joy and happiness within her eyes that spread the tiniest of worldly wonders onto her lips. She turned up to me, the sound of ringing bells cascading down into the sun lit places, a smile of silent laughter shining up at me from rosy tainted lips, and from behind the deep molten amber within her eyes I could see the faint glimmer of joyous, unshed tears. We stayed silent like that; two pairs of eyes, two no more unwoven people, casting half-open gazes across the sight of burning fire and violet dusk.
And as the sun set in, darkened the light over the magical sight of her wide, open smile, of innocence and kindness, I finally realized the truth at long last. I knew now that this was more than just a place to stay, more than something to come back to every day with yawning in my eyes. This was so much more than that. This was our place, a shard of life of our own. This was a place called home.
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