Writing something as a reply for a surprise left on my desk.

I remember one day writing the sentence ‘silver lining’ trying to think what it meant,
only having a hint; and a feeling towards to what the word intended for me to understand.
As I went through the word in my head I continued walking and waiting for the meaning. Being
far away from a definition. But close as to grasp the idea.
Truth be told, we all run in slow motion trying to catch a moment. We walk one foot after the other;
we run around the corner, at the end of the street, on the bus, through the grass, with the head directed
to the sky, with the hand swinging in the air, maybe even tucked inside the jacket.
We move without knowing that we are waiting. The wait as the remains of the happened, or the
discern of the yet to come.
Moments, silver linings, memories, and things.
They all belong to a special place where being is timeless. They waltz and mark the pace of time.
They hide and we seek. We find them and we both run. And while you run, while air
rushes in and out of your lungs; while everyone would think you are sprinting towards
victory, you just think ‘he/she found me… someone has found me’

Writing something as a reply for a surprise left on my desk.

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