The Wall. . . .

It’s a race against time and space. Time, before the end of which i have to complete and space , that is available for me to write what’s what. . . .No more bullshitting, even though I wanted to avoid what’s already done. It’s helplessness. . . .

It’s a beautiful, lazy Sunday evening. The light from the sun, up there on the horizon, before he says the final goodbye for the day, is cast on that ‘wall’ that’s right opposite me. The shadows on the wall tell the tales of everything that’s behind me. The golden rays of light from the dusk sun have painted the white wall, as if it were an artist’s canvas, in the colour of the yellow metal with the shadows that constantly change, depicting time that can never be captured but only experienced.

The race is over, the time has won, the sun has set, all that remains now is the plain canvas of the white wall, that will wait for the sun to return tomorrow, with a new story with new characters playing their part, while the space will now remain engulfed in darkness, waiting for light. . . .