It was one, rainy day in March.
A gloomy afternoon - tiny hints of daylight flaring through translucent grey clouds.
The rain draped behind my back, showered my head. All over, I was wet all over - my black jacket, my big black map, even a little red foliage I painted on the corner of it.
As I was grasping every bit of the drops, the feeling of Amsterdam's typical cold spring day, I dragged my heavy shoulder and carried away a pack of crushed dreams and a pale broken heart. I sighed. I was restless. That particular day had just been one of the saddest days in my life. Though I tried to conceal the wound, the pain was inevitable. Between my silent weeps and every inch of my pain I sketched a little promise: to get over it, keep moving on, finding a path that goes back into my tiny dreamworld. A sanctuary in a paper moon. The sketch was just like any other of my sketches; it was not pretty. But I did it with courage, therefore I loved it like I never loved one before.
Suddenly, it had dawned on me. The little promise I just made and the big black map dangling on my cold wet hand - they smiled. Ah, dear Allah. I thank Thee for that smile... . For once I thought the sun had shone and instantly I felt warm inside. "Please, wipe my tears," I chanted helplessly. "Please - take away my shattered pieces and keep them in a bottle of hope." In no time had I held onto those hands. I, quietly, put a smile upon my face too - for them eyes only. I walked, we walked, hand in hand together across the empty street. And we kept on walking. No more pain. No more rain.
Say, it's only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
- Ella Fitzgerald
