Aqua vitae

It did not matter who you were at the time, a smile upon two lips were formed and never left, never ceased bending upwards, drawn by Damocles’ magnetic sword. A statue capable of living, a puppet on a string, a blind man eying his seeing eye dog. No no no, the smile itself, it never left – the pure aspiration of future joy never got crushed (like so many victims did in the meantime). Which direction it’ll take, that cannot be said – it took tons and tons of dynamite to bring down the oldest statues in the world in Mesopotamia, and still they’re trying to get rebuilt. Realisation of this by you might come too late, too little and too afraid to respond. But it is a kiss that stands, metaphorical, dreamlike, yet you know it’s there, and it’ll always be there. There cannot be a first person in this tale, a narrator that needs to be everyone at once, all encompassing. All because of devotion, and possible a sputtering engine of hope (it is no fountain of hope, surely not – that image wouldn’t portray the sheer energy and will that is involved). It wouldn’t be deemed plausible, but surrealities are more livable than colourless lifetime imprisonment. And smiling, smiling, smiling, a next challenge needs to be taken, erosion making edges smoother and smoother until no edge can be seen anymore.
Reinstatement then, restauration to former glory, lips upward, expectant. Out of here, out of here, back to the initial state, the original frame and country of origin. No one will be reimbursed, only punished if these images are disturbed…