On the rooftop of the house, he told me about his future-plan of becoming a pilot. “I want to fly!” he said, spreading his arms.
“in the eyes of a child you will see, the world as it should be” as someone once said. I listened to him carefully, giving larger meanings to his humble dream. What a convenient conversation it was to have with that child, as he opened the doors I thought were closed. He told me that he had no interest on ever landing on the ground, and explained that the sky was more pleasant. I held his hand, that was smaller than mine, between both of my hands and asked, “But where would your house be?”, “over there!” he pointed at the full moon.
The words of that child dreaming of building a house over the moon made me smile, after the drizzle of defeated tears. As a rainbow, gleefully glowing after a hurricane.