The Drawing on The Table
I see a flower opening its pedals in the middle of spring. The flower is not too big, it’s medium size, and the light hitting it at this specific moment makes it look brighter than it actually is, almost transparent. The petals have lines, and these lines go in every direction with a pattern, and they get lost as they reach the end of each petal. The flower is still young, and has plenty of life left, and it’s hard to look at it and not smile.
I don’t see a flower, instead I see a butterfly. She is flying, her wings spread out, and the wings makes is seem as if she is smiling. Her wings move in the air, and the butterfly looks like it’s lying down, not moving, because her motions are so delicate. But the butterfly is definitely moving, not fast or slow, but a happy rhythm, and one wonders if there is another butterfly waiting for her.
I don’t see a butterfly, or a flower, but I do see four wine glasses pouring wine all over a room, or a table. Four glasses, like the ones one sees at church as a kid and wonders if drinking from it would give you secret superpowers. The glasses are pointing in four different directions, and the wine shoots from each of them, and there is nothing anyone can do, the wine will just go on and fill the room, or the table, and all we can do is hope for the glasses to fall down to the ground at some point and for the wine to stop pouring.
I see four people sitting in a circle, or maybe laying in a circle, with their arms up in some sort of ceremony or celebration. They are sitting in a circle but they don’t look at each other, instead they look up, passed their raised arms, and at times close their eyes because the sun is too strong. No one says anything, but they all wait for something similar, and as time passes, their arms and eyes get tired and nothing happens.
I see a drawing, the drawing on the top of a table, and four people trying to figure out what the drawing is. No one is correct, naturally.
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