"There is something so strangely mystical about watching Time as he sweeps his broom across the dirty floor, wiping away the grains of sand that have fallen out from the broken hourglass lying in the corner of the room.
A feeling of alarming insecurity washes over you as you watch him wipe out past and present and future, the long tendrils of yesterday and tomorrow in his hands as he plucks them, smiling as he creates a brilliant harmony. Your heart thuds as you stand at the precipice of your future, your knees shaking as you hear the melody he plays, haunting and beautiful to your ears, waiting for a missed note, a broken chord.
Your heart quivers with relief as someone's strings snap and their soul gets lost in the abyss; the land of the unreachable and you stretch out your fingers, trying to bring it back even after knowing that the chasm is endless and it will suck you in. Time doesn't care though.
He's stuck in a daydream, his absent fingers strumming as his eyes look at the lost dreams you cannot see.
He's blind and his fingers are bleeding as he tries to weave the music together; the blood runs through the ends of the harp and they plop on the floor, mixing with the sand grains that have been left behind. His breath comes out ragged and his throat is dry; he tries to wet his lips and you are not too bold to take one step towards him.
Unsure. Afraid.
And so you keep on standing with your shaking knees and harrowing heart, on the edge of the Great Divide, looking up at the strings that bind you to the harp, praying that his fingers may never pluck you out."
-Excerpt from the Unsent Letters: An Autobiography; Potterman, Hans.
Published posthumously by the Letterman Publications Ltd.,
ISBN 978-3-16-148410-0.
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Nothing Left Unsaid
General Fiction(A WATTPAD FEATURED STORY) Actor Hans Potterman found dead in his apartment! Welma Birdie, Spl Correspondent, E! Today 01 September 2015, Los Angeles Hours after publicity agent Gina Thompson alerted the local police that her c...
