I´m sitting on a park bench reminiscing about times gone by. In front of me on the ground are loads of broken seed-shells of what they call Pipas here. People eat them by the bagload, nibbling them one by one, after having divested them of their shells with two deft little bites. I´ve never been able to master the technique. A white dove came to peck at them. I thought to myself whether this were the Dove of Peace, sent to me by my guardian angel to bring me tranquility. I sincerely hope so. What is there for this dove to feed on though, but the broken shards of the seeds of ideas that never came to fruition. Dreams that have grown tired of their forebears being shattered time and time again. I almost feel like giving up hope this time. What does the future have in store for me now: more disappointment?
All I wanted was to earn enough with my writing to live on, which hasn´t happened yet and might never happen. Should I still keep going, just for the sake of it? It´s harder without feedback, not having the money for internet. I feel like a clown performing his silly tricks, with for an audience one lone dove. At least I just made myself smile, albeit wearily… Correction, of two doves, no… three and a sparrow! My audience is growing even as my spirit is lifting! All might still be right with the world.