May I confess
I had a strange dream last night, my dear.
While running her fingers through the stars...
a friendly ghost was softly whispering to my ear.
And as she described amazing love stories
Falling from her face I noticed some tears.
I was not scared, no. Not scared...
Rather shocked and mesmerized
by how deep her words reached my soul
covering with gold dust my heart and eyes.
But the best storyteller is not
a ghost with soft look.
Not ancient words stolen from old magic books
Or the words dripping from clouds silver and clear.
Because the best storytellers are in fact, our own painful tears.
A.
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