XXLove letters   

 

 

 

When everything told stories,

 

It would have been a museum if only life had played no games,

Exhibits had price tags though,

Every item has its unique bio,

There were no items but people,

All those that had owned them,

Now they were matters of taste,

An evil witch had bewitched them casting a freezing spell,

They might have felt insane and romantic,

The evil witch didn’t like it,

They reminded her how she felt,

She didn’t spawn evil at dawn and daylight,

Only after a clock struck midnight,

She engaged in witchcraft brewing potions, providing antiques for flea market, taking care of haunted shops,

Owners-items became accustomed to a weary daily routine,

Staring eyes,

Groping fingers,

Rushing nowhere shoes,

Seeking destruction beings,

All forms of life trespassed the border,

 They entered the shrine of ageless time,

Women with sad eyes looked for their youth,

They tried to remember how it felt being happy,

They bought happiness belonging to others,

You could easily recognize them,

They wore turquoise heels,

The owner was an old man with foxy shine in his eyes,

His hair receded unlike his family business,

His business thrived,

More clients, more francs,

He pushed successfully his old stuff,

He folded francs in the Rothschild manner,

The owner fussed when he saw a client,

‘Would you take a look for yourself,

We have cheap prices, expensive items,

It’s the best antique shop in Paris,

I have the best provider,

S’il vous plait,

Monsieur, Mademoiselle’,

He rubbed his hands in satisfaction,

If things should last, then money should last,

He talked to his haunted slaves on a daily basis,

About hope, dust and acceptance,

He playfully winked at them,

His eyes flickered like candlelight,

‘Your destiny will find you,

Don’t lose your hope,

Your noses up,

Take a look at brass kettles,

Stay patient, mysterious, proud,

Avoid looking as if you were recent,

 And drive away nasty dust’.