It was the last few hours. With very little time left. It seems that all the noise is fading away. Memory is rewinding itself, portraying old pictures. They are more clear now. Now, after the noise all gone. Everything seems clearer. It almost feels like that truth is waiting on exit doors. There he was, on the hospital bed. Talking to his children and grand children as if he was lecturing them rather than making a conversation. The fever was severe, he thought he was saying everything on his mind. But, his mind was failing to deliver it all in speech.
His eldest son placed his hand on his shoulder and told him. Everything will be alright. Time passed by so quickly, everyone has left. He stayed there, until his father slept. Then, he started thinking about what was said. He started to add few words here and there, to see if he can make sense of what was said. It was too late, the lights were dimmed. He felt that his eyes need to rest a bit. So, he closed them for few seconds.
The morning came, he woke up. It certainly felt like he slept for a long time. His father was already awake and feeling better. He turned to him and asked him and the only thing he had in mind was, his thoughts from last night. He asked him: were you reciting something from a book? The father replied: I'm not sure what you are talking about. It could be something I said, or something that you dreamt of, while you were here. I am not sure of that. But, I am sure that I can advise you of the best book. He stopped for a second and then said: It can be the book that you write, or it can be one the books that you read. But, it is definitely the one that enhances your own story.
