We are the time. We are the famous by Jorge Luis Borges

We are the time. We are the famous

metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure.

We are the water, not the hard diamond,

the one that is lost, not the one that stands still.

We are the river and we are that greek

that looks himself into the river. His reflection

changes into the waters of the changing mirror,

into the crystal that changes like the fire.

We are the vain predetermined river,

in his travel to his sea.

The shadows have surrounded him.

Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away.

Memory does not stamp his own coin.

However, there is something that stays

however, there is something that bemoans.

Jorge Luis Borges

"Narcissus' Nightmare Becomes a Dream" (by zoe jordan)
[zoe] He looks into the pool--living, not stagnant--and sees not his own reflection, but that of his other... [vesna] image. The image broken into pieces, transformed into some unrecognizable shape, was looking back at him. Narcissus felt broken and unprotected, it seemed like the living pool was reflecting his inner self. His nightmare was there in front of him, so alive and scary: there is this floating ugly creature convincing him that his beauty is invisible, that his fears are out there for the world to see. Narcissus closed the eyes...
[zoe] He wished to see beauty, but new beauty: he wished to look into his reflection and see something more beautiful than himself, himself but more beautiful. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he willed it. And with his eyes shut, his other senses began to take over. He could smell a blossom, some blossom...what was its name? And a gentle, singing voice floated across the air, barely reaching his ears... [vesna]

Alphonse Mucha, Princess Hyacinth

That was the smell of the spring, of his mother's garden full of white hyacinth, smell of her warm hug and gentle touch that was wiping the tears from his dusty face. He was a little boy again. Playful and careless. He only feared that the night will interrupt his play and he'll have to go to sleep. He didn't like nights and sleep when he was a boy, they were bringing with them scary dreams...

[zoe]
...dreams of the forest before him, endless and dark, the monstrous roots and the hidden swamps, and the whispers of all that awaited his fall...the shivering trees that warned him, with sudden silence, of that dreaded arrival...


"Spooky Tress," by Gabriel Jordan