By gabmr on Skatehive
Pixabay Burning In Memories I tried to contain myself. I closed my eyes and imagined around. I went back to writing, but nothing came to my mind. I had already thrown away a dozen pages and the twilight of the day—maybe of my ideas—was taking place. I couldn't believe my current mood, and suddenly, it happened. In a flash of anger I tore all the pages out of the notebook and knocked down everything on the desk. The ink spilled and the statuette of Cervantes broke into pieces. Even if I got out of the studio, the past haunted me. On every wall of the house there was a photo, a souvenir, a diploma of my children. Their fatal absence nuked me inside because I would never see them again for being a drunk driver. Then, lying on the couch by the window, I wept in front of the cold, undisturbed glow of the moon. Its glare was unusually intense and reached out to be an uncomfortable spectator of my suffering in that vast empty room. “Where is everybody?” I repeated to myself several times. Aft