Tales of moonlight

Nothing feels the same again. The sun doesn't rise and set like it used to anymore. Time seems like it has become shorter. I never get to see 1pm nor 8pm anymore, probably because they are the rush hours of my life now. I can't remember the last time I looked at the moon with loved ones, starring deep and looking for imaginary moon workers. I miss the way the moon illuminates darkness and creates a soothing calmness as we waste away the night in story telling...

I miss my father's deep bass as he tells us about his childhood. Nothing is more beautiful than the pictures of our imagination. The tales of Akpugoeze decades before I was born. The smell of roasted corn and ube, the background sound created by crickets.

Slowly but steadily I am taken to the land of dreams where I can't live in but I am rewarded with memories. Memories created from the pictures of my imagination.

Those were the days of bliss...

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