Unicorn of Thoughts

“We all owe death a life.”

I open my window, there is a massive green mountain in the vicinity of it. Clouds hover over it like cotton thrown haphazardly from the sky. They engulf its summit in their inverted whirlpool when it rains and the sky drops down. Depleting the distance between heaven and paradise.

I am in the class. A ma’am of elegance has occupied the stage of the classroom. There is something subtly impressive about her, power in amalgamation with femininity perhaps. What a lovely splendour to witness. And beauty on top of that, like cherry over a red velvet. A smile only able to crack into existence but not fly off her lips, every freckle of herself in her own grip. Power.

A house-fly flies and lands on my desk. It needs something to suck on. The sponge in their mouth that feeds them is a microscopic miracle in itself. A bunch of tiny straws, or tubes collectively forming a sponge of some sort, through which they absorb their food and ingest. It taps every small spot on the desk in search of some nectar. My fingers as well. How harmless, I imagine, and how purposeless.

It rubs its front two legs like a man rubbing his hands together when he is cold. Why does the fly do it, clear the dust off its legs? Hm, who knows? Its eyes then, a mosaic of lenses. Another microscopic miracle.

I see a small pool of water formed under the droplets dripping off a rooftop. For how I softly glare in it, my heart, heavy in the nostalgia of its identity, finds no significance in it. I lost away in a smile, on a microscopic level a stretch of lips, untraceable of the molecular logic.