what is real is so blatantly boring and redundant that my mind tends to wander in the general direction of what is unreal and extraordinay… because even the slightest possibility that the extraordinay can actually BE produces such a rush of hope, and a high so potent that its transitory nature is of no consequence. this is why i dream. if you call this foolishness then so be it. we’re all fools at one time or another.
my heart used to race
whenever you came closer,
now it stands so still…
from “If You Could See Me Now” by Cecelia Ahern
Nothing else exists
when you’re here so close to me…
All I sense is you.
“now all you have to do is find a sword in a stone…” said the girl sitting cross-legged in the mirror
silence plays across the night and i sit here still in a spinning sphere that waits for no one. allow me to divulge, i fear i have been placed in the far forgotten recesses of a crumbling cupboard in a dungeon far from the sun’s reach. i run and run only to find the ground beneath me has given way and all is illusion, deceitful in its banality all the while the sand spills madly on into the bottom glass.
i’ve not seen your face for longer than i had planned to miss…
and when I come back, I’ve gone.
