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The Room

The Room

In this room, with earthen walls, my mother gave birth to me; on a clear, quiet morning. In this room, my grandparents grow old, my parents grow old and now, I have grown old. In this room, I have seen time, motionless, staring at my eyes, while my face slowly shrinks, squeezing the youth out of my soul. In this room, I have seen death in the eyes twice, and God, I know the third time I will be her accompanist. In this room I wait, I wait for the unknown for many, for the well-known by me. I wait for the unstoppable, with no other choice but to wait. I wait, like the green leaves of the tree for winter, like the bloom rose waits for the sun. Like a wolf waits for the full moon to howl, like a mother waits for her son. Sometimes it has occurred to me: What if death forgets about me and never comes? But then I smile and think to myself, I am not just old but also a fool. Then, I proceed to wait for Night to come and the new sun to shine. In this room I wait.

     

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