The key

This story that I want to tell, started with a key which was initially lost and finally found, followed by a discussion in pub, four poems and it has been finished a couple of minutes ago by a phone call.

Sometimes I am thinking that the whole story is not important. Not at all actually. All ups and downs, mental and physical trips are just residuals. The importance, maybe, just lays down in some rare moments, some images, and these images make us to live the story or let say bare the story.

We never start a story. Story will start by itself and finish by itself.

The story that I wanted to tell finished by itself before starting, although I am living with its clear images.

A key which was initially lost and finally found, a discussion in pub, 4 poems and a phone call.