A movie, all by myself

I soaked it all in. After a long, long time. The mood, the colours, the eyes and the shadows in them. Old world stories hold a charm of their own. They sound sturdy, solid. A piece that has weathered it all, stood the test of time and emerged, wrinkled and real. And the scraps of fear left back on the plate after the meal is devoured are real too. You feel their burnt taste on your tongue. His fears become yours’, fears of the unfathomable, to ingest the loss and come to terms with the darkness and its dark, deep shadows which are blacker than black itself. And then, a blinking, fading darkness of light shines dimly..flickering. You are pulled to it. It raises its flame in your eyes and glows bright on your soul. Daybreak might be a possibility, after all. The inky, sluggish black night may pass and the red sun will rise in our window, our piece of the world. Magic or witch craft? Surely, magic all the way! The magic of cinema, of storytelling, of last frame smiles that reach the eyes and linger on, long after the end credits have rolled by.