The Morning Sun

   Stella slowly turned over the pages of a notebook, remembering as one of her friends once said: ”You know… I mean the poems were written.” “Yes, the poems that were all about what happened,” she thought. This, in an unexpected way, captured Stella’s imagination. The expression itself astonished her with its simplicity and its frankness. She seemed never to have had any thoughts about this before. Nevertheless, in this particular moment, this appeared to her as such a truth, as if it always was somewhere near her, but because of some mysterious reason, she didn’t recognize this in full until the moment when this was said out loud to her by a person that she didn’t know well.

   Then somehow, one of her former friends started to ask her questions and make assumptions about whether these very poems were about him. However, you knew perfectly well that they weren’t about him at all. But Stella herself had become accustomed to think no more about this. She got rid of these memories as if they were something dusty and useless, and put them into that part of mind which, although was impossible to throw away, was effectively locked behind closed doors. Somewhere where the keys could purely and simply be accidentally lost. Forgetting all about your facial features, your habits or your character traits, she suddenly over the years, little by little, started to lose that naivety and trust. Basically all that you had liked so much. There appeared a coldness and a kind of silence, which didn’t disturb, but appeased, in what might bring harmony and serenity to life.

   Then she started to smile, and with this smile people gained an understanding of the inviolability of her decisions. They started to like seeing a different side of her, as it was so far removed from their earlier impressions. People started to talk about her in a way that they have never done before, and they started to write about her in a way they have never done before either. And she smiled looking at the beams of the morning sun in the window, which was something she also took great pleasure in.


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