Page 23 - THE BOOK 11 12 2020 8 pm FINAL_Neat

and sing.

All I have to honor him
is to become smarter, even smarter

than him.
SLEEP STORY II

(From writer's point of view)
I’m walking in the woods behind my old house.

The trees sing with the wind,

and the snow crunches under my feet.
The cold air bites at my mouth.

As I walk,
I see an old, broken statue of a person.

I wonder who it is.
The statue’s blank stone eyes stare unseeing at the ground.

The emptiness of its gaze, haunting me.

It has been here for a long time, far longer than me.
All of a sudden, I see the old house.

I question why.

Why we had to leave.
A sudden wave of sadness runs across my body,

remembering all of the time I lived there.
I step into the house.

I remember the smell of the house,
and the feeling of the rugs rubbing against my feet,

and the cracking of the fireplace,
and the warmth of my father.

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