The cold December air was burning Iago’s skin. He was constantly turning and spinning around on his bed. Restless. His eyes tried hard to shut out the darkness and be adrift in a reverie. But there was no dream. Only memories. Reality.
Heavy. That is how his heart feels. Broken. That is how he sees himself.
Eventually, he’ll see beauty in it. He’ll soon be smiling. It will be a distantmemory hidden in the depths of both his fears and desires. He’ll walk again… in a new pair of shoes.
*lifted from a short entry, posted exactly on the same date last year.
Yes, and indeed: He walked again. Walked so far from where he was then. And now he has more than a pair of handsome shoes.