A Song of Wishes, My Blue Eyed Boy

January 30, 2012
I closed my eyes, and let myself fall. I was falling towards the water, towards your blue eyes, towards sure and complete betrayal. I was a blade, cutting ever deeper into the mystery of teenage dreams, deeper into the world of mermaids and echoing laughs. Burrowing into the center of tears and shattering red beating glass. I fell into a moment, in which my life changed with only one simple word.


I opened my eyes, the light filtering oh so dimly through the yellowed tent fabric. Taking in a deep breath, I felt the stale air tickle my lungs and heard the soft rasping noise, broken only by the sounds of shifting bodies around me. I took a moment to just find my body, lying somewhere below me. 'Was it just a dream?' i wondered. Taking deep care, i slowly pulled myself together, and sat up. I was hit with a surge of heat, memory, and a thousand words, meaningless in the rush of life, but words on which I now floated. High above the clouds i soared, feeling the sun beat down upon the top of my head. Slowly i spiraled down, a drifting leaf on the breeze.

Before I knew it, I was propelled out the tent doors, and stumbled back at the burst of light and activity. Flying duffle bags, the smell of fresh cooked burritos and shouts echoed off the trees and hit me with a force great enough to knock me over. I blinked, and felt a hand pulling me towards the table, covered in brightly lit plates stacked haphazardly, surrounded by bags full with bread, carrots and potatoes. I saw my bright blue eyed boy, standing above a stove flipping tortillas and scrambling eggs. Brim pulled low, standing tall and mysteriously different than all the others. The corners of my mouth were pulled up, puppets on a string obeying every order of the hand above them.

I had never seen those eyes as clearly as now. They sung me a song of sunshine, green grass and twirling, dancing figures, far from prying eyes. They sung me the song of waterfalls, lying amongst hammocks on a beach in the carribean, and running fast through throngs of people. Storms raging, and the soft flickering light of a blue flame.

I was snapped from my daydream, my everlasting daydream, by the sound of his voice. My blue eyed boy. Here, he says, eat. I have a burrito in my hands, filled with the spicy scents of eggs and sausage. What? Who says eggs are spicy? The smell wafting towards my face, tingly and warm,filled with the warm spices of a summer day. I look up, and he is still there, standing close enough to see his blue eyes. My blue eyes. My puppet strings pull, and sunshine spills. He has puppet strings too, i think. Brilliant, gorgeous puppet strings. Thank you, i whisper. Of course, he whispers back.

My head lies on his chest, and i feel the fragile red glass beating against my rose petaled cheek. I am an eagle, flying high over the giant purple mountains, searching for my blue eyes. My blue eyed boy. I open my sleep filled eyes, and carribean seas, wreaked by storms, distant and past, envelop the daydream. I feel wind whipping my hair, the spray of salt water misting my face. The hull slices through the water, like a knife and soft butter. The boat lifts off the water, and is soaring through the air, driven only by me and my high spirits.

Warmth radiates around me, and I find myself, not dreaming, but awake, safe next to the blue eyed boy. Hidden in plain sight. Oh, if only the stars could see me now, shining brighter than them all. But no, i am hidden within the light of the sun, and my light will dim by the time the stars might catch a glimpse of my flame.

Flashing colors, dancing with rainbows, we lift off the ground, still dancing , laughing, crying. Not tears of sadness, but for the happy memories. Whirlwind, flying down the mountainside, boards strapped to our feet and wings tied to our hearts. Puppet strings getting tangled, falling over and more daydreams, my blue eyed boy.

No flames last, no rainbows stay forever. The whirlwind calmed to a breeze, and the red beating glass, cracked and battered, finally pushed off the end of the table. I walk across the tiny pieces, torn from my breast, and the black water runs slowly down my face. No young love lasts, as they say. Love hurts. Don't try it until you're strong enoough, they tell me.
It isn't love that hurts, what hurts is rejection, fear, and lonliness. Love is the one thing that keeps us going, love gives us wings.

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