Stories On the Screen

I reminisce, I miss   The days we were called   by the stories on the screen.    My sister and I, our story    part of it written in the hall where darkness descend gladly.   The darkness blessed us     to sew our moments together  with the pricking needle of time.   Spells, the giant screen casts always.   While sitting on our seats we were on the alien's spaceship. Jurassic dinosaurs even roamed in front of us. Whole hall is a time machine.   Her tongue sipped cold cola,    My mouth demands my fingers   an unstoppable work,   to dig into the popcorn cups.   Though footless, wildly giggles    jumped right to left from left to right on our both cheeks.   The wetness travelled down   our eyelids for the unasked touch comes out of a story.   My poor sister.     In the middle of every story my curiosity shows her no mercy A lot troublesome pinches it gives her.  Who says we are brave Horror stories do know how to make our cells to scream their throat out.   Entangled strands of strings in    the garment our memories wearing   are those days.    The days   I reminisce, I miss.