Shining Green Threads


I woke up in the middle of a monologue. I was trying to convince somebody to stop upsetting me. After a while I turned and looked into the shadow by the wardrobe to see a small bright light shine for a moment. Did he understand? No, he didn't. A couple of nights later cold air on my cheek woke me. It was like a touch of a finger, only it wasn't a finger, it was air, gentle and cold, caressing my cheek. Like a touch of a moth's wing. I noticed he thickened the dark air with shining thin green threads. 

I never think about asking who he is or what he wants. I don't have to. Back there I know. It's here that I don't, and here it ceases to be important. 




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Zbudila sem se sredi monologa, ko sem nekomu dopovedovala naj me neha vznemirjati. Čez čas sem se obrnila, pogledala v senco ob komodi, kjer se je za trenutek prižgala močna bela lučka, ki tam ne bi smela biti. Je razumel? Ni. Nekaj noči kasneje me je zbudil hladen zrak, ki me je pobožal po licu. Nežen kot dotik krila nočnega metulja. V temi sem videla, da mi je zrak prepredel s svetlečimi zelenimi nitmi. 

Nikoli mi ne pride na misel, da bi vprašala kdo je in kaj hoče. Ni mi treba spraševati. Tam vem kdo je. Tukaj ne vem več in tukaj to ni pomembno.

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