Pieces of fiction

The most bitter kind of tea: reality.



“Don’t tell anyone I’m here”

She visited me on a cold winter night and I was worried she had walked all the way from heaven.


I asked her if she had trouble reaching me and she said she never did.


We sat in my bed and whispered our latest secrets to each other.


She said she knew all mine because she’s been watching me all along.


I felt a little ashamed of certain events that had happened and she said I shouldn’t.


I could feel her warm wrinkly hands just the way they’d left me.


She asked me if I’ve found it in myself to have faith and I told her she has become the source of it.


I was worried she would have to return any second and I was trying my best to save the feeling of warmth she had brought with her.


We decided to take a walk to catch some fresh air and she taught me how to fly over the streetlamps and tall buildings.


She said she wanted to hear her favorite song and so I sang it for her.


We got back to my room and it was feeling cold again.


I told her my head is heavy and my eyes are fighting all urges to stay open.


She told me she needed to head back and I tried to stop her but my body fell weak and my words fell short.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m here, only you can see me”


You’re now only a dream teta.

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