THE ARTIST

When the world has become a pencil drawing, a masterpiece on the easel of the creator, I await for it to fade to black and arise anew.

It is as if the nightfall were the curtains closing, and the dawn were their opening each day, the birds singing on cue with their beautiful serenade.

While others sleep through the dying of the light, my task is to remain awake and witness its rebirth, to see how the pencil sketch becomes the greatest of high definition movie.

As the blackness comes I calmly watch myself be erased, eyes open and seeing nothing at all, the only evidence of my being is the steady thump of my heart and the cool air in my lungs.