...The time has stopped. I don"t remember when and how but I happened to be here, in the puddle of dirty water. I watch different creatures walking by every day and only night brings to me the refuge. They are looking at me with incredible curiosity and even a shadow of the thought that I can be something more then they think does not touch their minds... The time has stopped, as it has never existed there is only me in the eternity of the dark puddle fulfilled by dirty water and the memories... I breathe it; it penetrates through my skin unless it"s so thick.
...I remember myself at the time when I was not here, my childhood. But even then I was always alone among other hippos catching fish from nowhere. I was listening to the music of the jungle at the night when it was the fool moon. Yellow or dark red, it was so close and so far away from me. That time the water tasted as a sorrow, as a memory about something what has never happened...
...They give me the carrots every morning, huge bowl with reddish carrots. I am so terrified every time they entered the room. We are strangers...My loneness and red carrots in the dark...
I still remember the music. It takes me over, over the signs of sadness through transparent memories, through my cage...
Every night I see the dreams about white ships. Shiny white ships kissed by free salted winds. Those dreams fulfilled my life or timeless existence as a miracle as a rescue. White ships which are on the waves of sea, on the waves of unborn melodies. I am trying to reach them but it"s impossible as any other perfection but I want at least to breathe the mist near them. Mist of unborn melodies, mist of the inspiration. What are they, my run away dreams, surrounded by the beauty of music?
...She came always every day to stop by my cage. Her skin is so white...She told me some secret stories about the violins. I never talk to her. I am hidden, my world is hidden, and even my eyes are hidden from her. But I want, want to forget about my shell I want to talk to her so badly. Once she gave me her silence, next day she brought the little box filled with it... Her hands are always cold...She has a strange habit to touch her lips very slightly and unnoticeable, when she is thinking about something what I never told her...I see my dreams almost every day, I want to tell her about them, I know I have to... There are fish of my desires underneath the white ships and birds of my sorrow are far away ...
...Next day she disappeared ... I did not tell her about the melodies of white shadows of my imagination...I never saw her again and I never will. Since that time I don"t sleep. I don"t see my dreams any more; she took them away...
And me...I breathe the darkness of the puddle like I have never happened to be...