Tag Archives: Dream
I was born an artist, a dancer, a believer, a singer, but most of all I was born a writer. I draw and paint and create, but it is only within my words can I truly escape.
I bury myself in my books, dreaming of passion that can only be written, and tales that can only be dreamed of. This is my escape.
My drive is my dream, my motivations come from my readers, and my inspiration is purely within my imagination. I sleep, wake, and breathe my stories. This, is my escape.
I sit here, my face in my hands. Every so often I run my fingers through my bed hair. I shift as time goes on from couch, floor, kitchen table, to café, and it’s the same everywhere I go. My mind is silent. I can’t force the world in my mind to press to paper, or computer, or pen, it just stays taunting me, inside my mind. Worlds of magic and intrigue, love and betrayal, murder and mystery, all locked away in a brain too occupied with the real world to let herself be imaginative.
When we stop our imagination, push it aside in order to deal with life, that’s when we grow old, those moments are when we loose our inner child to the adult. Maybe I’m from Neverland, but I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to feel older.
I sit here in the quiet, staring at the bars locking me inside myself and I say, “Not today!” My hands grasp the cold steel and one good tug is all it needs. The bars burst into shimmering dust and float in the air around me. My smile lifts and my eyes tear.
“Welcome Back” is all I hear.
I’m at work. I keep checking the clock to see how much longer I have to be here. Not really noticing the time but understanding that the time of release and my rampant scurry to flee the building will not be happening for a while.
Behind me I hear the familiar pattern of coworkers walking the halls between our cubes. I think nothing of it. It’s just a normal day. Until suddenly there were hands on my shoulders and my name is being screamed. The instant shock that propelled me upwards also prevented me from noticing as my leg gets caught between the seat and the armrest of my chair, as it often does since I like to contort myself into my uncomfy chair so that I can imagine that it is more comfy than it actually is. Within the momentum of the chair and me trying to get up extremely quickly it promptly shoves me back down and my face was compelled to become close friends with my desk.
Hospital rooms are always freezing. You would think they would keep it warmer since so many people that come to them are actually sick. The doctor pulls the curtain around and I see my friend Kim standing there behind him, her hands to her face in a state of shock and tears down her face. She hadn’t expected to startle me so bad that I would bust my nose. The doctor flips through his chart and looks at me. He’s heard the story, had his laugh for the day, and then gave me something for the booming headache that was probably a little more than I could handle while still trying to remember how to pronounce my name.
The Doctor smirks and asks me how I’m feeling.
“Me? I feel pretty.” My face obviously black and blue by now.
“You feel pretty?”
I nod “I feel pretty.”
He shifts his face to the side slightly his smirk growing into a smile. “And witty?”
My eye twitches “But not Gay.”
I wake up in my dark room blinking through the sleep that has blurred my vision. My digital clock across the room blinks green number at me that read 3:33am. I breathe in deeply my hand searching my face. Nothing is there, no busted nose, no tape. It was a dream.
“…What the hell…”