The Colors Of The Mind

The air in Flushing is bright blue. The whole day long. I listen to the stories of mum. She tells them without interruptions. Always the same stories. She describes events that I can not imagine. She makes connections that I can not understand. She tells about conspiracies that I can not see through. She counts the stars in the sky as the sand on the beach and the fish in the sea to their color traces in the water. I nod, I smile, I try to say something ...

We, mums children and grandchildren insist, hope, pray ... That mum will take her medicin, that will make her free of the twilight of confusion she is living in at the moment ... A twilight in which she locks herself in and puts herself in a social isolation ... Poor, lovely mum ... Why not give up your unimaginable resistance ... Life still can be so beautiful for you ...