dreams unfold like smoke

November 7, 2011
By itszappy BRONZE, Wenig Road, Iowa
itszappy BRONZE, Wenig Road, Iowa
1 article 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
be kind.

Once, there was a little girl, who raised her eyes & heart to the fluttering butterflies & ancient moon, the ominous sun.

This little girl had many dreams, like many. Unlike many, however, when her sun bleached hair tucked to the back of her neck and her bare feet hit the ocean of grass and the scent of forest lingered on her skin; there was a moment in time, maybe space, where the world axed upon herself.

In this moment, she is able to live; relive her dreams and make them come true, true as love on first sight and flowers walking on water.
But, unfortunately, time isn't so lenient, and this moment passes as quickly and solemnly as it comes; thinner than air and quietly as age.

Soon, so very soon, the little girl grows unto a girl, and then a woman, and is forced to abandon the clear sky and bright stars and honey scented grass she had once called home.

She comes to a city, where fog rolls heavily and the night is young, where the moon shines dimly and the stars are clouded by heavy pollution. She huddles her scarf around neck more tightly. She can't breathe.

There is laughter in the air, whether dizzy or sober. And the street lights, the city lights shine brightly and strikingly; bright hues of red and cool shades of blue, the wave of purple and the festival orange. It's a magnificent artificial rainbow.

In a bar too her left she can hear the drifting soprano of a singer, voice saccharine and haunting; a swift scent of salt and a flutter of eyelashes.

She breathes heavily, and a thick curl of fog rolls out. Smoke and cedar cling to her skin, cherry underlines her breath with a hint of mist.

She walks into her old, but new to her, crumbly apartment and the smell of rats and smoke clog her lungs; her mattress is thin and lumpy. Heavy accented Latin music sings through her windows from across the street, and she smells pizza.

Its cold but cozy and stuffy here. Small. But luckily (unluckily?) She only has a large suitcase of clothes and soap and blanket to accompany her & herself.

An engine of a car revving up fills her ears and she can taste fish on her tongue as she drifts; the unseen stars and dim moon shining brightly more so on her skin and caresses her, singing a sweet lullaby older than dirt & time, and kisses her goodnight & she falls asleep.

In a city with artificial light, it rains.

The author's comments:
Wrote this in sixth? seventh? grade, have no use for it, let's see what happens.
Also. It's incredibly embarrassing, compared to my writing now. Reflection is always an interesting, embarrassing, bitter musing.

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