Hopes are hung to dry


The girl asked her mother if she could sit beside her on the couch. 

Just for a tiny bit.

Then she spread out on the clothesline that ran along the living room all the things that could be left for later. 

The rope, a more or less long interruption like a kite flying in the sky.

With her father's help, she opened a hole in the ceiling to let the sun in and the stars fall

o n e

  a t    a     

t i m e. 

When they felt thirsty, they drew mason jar cups filled with cold water on a sheet of paper and hung it. 

And when they felt hungry for jerk beef, they spread a piece of steak on the clothesline right under the hole where the golden rays of sunlight invaded the room. 

At night,     conversations,     fatigue,     and     silence     hung too. 

And looking at the sky and the clouds forming mysterious plots they fell asleep like piles of hope accumulating in the corner of the sofa.


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