Why I like midnight

Before midnight, everything is a real dream. After the nightfall, there are stories that need to be woven above our moony heads…

As innocence was breaking through my wooden framed window, my eyes could visualize no less than seven cats, waving smoothly their slinky royal tails into a perfect synchronization. They were standing in front of it, with their enormous hypnotic glassy eyes. From my inner turmoil as well as my vivacious pulse that found its bower in the blue iris, I took refuge in the dark. I closed my eyes. I closed the windows. Ripping from my eyelashes to prolong their skittish whiskers that were gently smoking in the blast, the cats began to scrap a deep bow, exactly there, at the edge of my clamshell. I was totally immersed in a profound muteness by their slender shadows taking for fluffy feathered cabaret dancers.
Innocence…How does it look like, when Melise, the pure black cat imprinted juicy steps in the empery of my dreams? I opened my cat’s eye out of a clear sky. They were gone…Nor my imagination, neither the silence of my nose that could hardly help itself blurting all its secrets out, would have dared to let them get in again…All was covered in a foggy cloud, in shadow, in dust…

…It is darkness that has its own story. I surmise I can purr now in a warm corner. I turned into a mystic creature of the night.