Never Ever After

Never Ever After
by Everett A Warren

In a land nearly close enough to touch – should you be one of those rare individuals who can see without seeing, hear without hearing, taste without tasting, smell without smelling, touch without touching, or know without knowing – there is a village, and that village is named The Village. (You must believe it is so, else it's nature is to fade at first at the edges, yellowing then, like an old photograph; maturing next into a crisp brownish layer, that will, at the last, crumble into a fine powdery dust made of heartaches and longing that will blow away on a butterfly's breath, taking with it an innocence and kindness and love that is scarce known in these cold, dreamless days.)

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