I woke up today, feeling rejuvenated, so I decided to go on a stroll.
At one point, I reached a fork in the road, where, I saw a clear pathway towards this house. This house I believe, I have always been able to see from afar. Enticed by what it had to offer, enticed by what it seemed to lack, I challenged myself up the stairs to this door of opportunity, and then I knocked, only to see that the door acquiesced at my request. It hated to see that I had come so far. It grudgingly asked me how lucky I felt to be alive. I guess my convoluted answer wasn’t enough to satisfy because it continued to emptily stare at me, waiting for eternal enlightenment, yet satiated with my presence. I reached for its handle anyways; this action perturbed it. After this, the door blushed until it became still-like and it opened slowly allowing me to hear a pitter patter about.
As I enter the home, a wave of nostalgic sadness overwhelms me until I saw those beautiful butterflies, that go by the name of thoughts and feelings, swirl all around me. They kissed my ears with ticklish whispers. and as I walked in farther and farther into the room they enkindled a new voice within me. I thought to myself, what else could this be, than a home for dreams. Is this where all dreams deferred go? For a moment, I had found peace much at last, knowing that my love would not shrivel up. until suddenly I heard a noise. The sound itself was ethereal, as if an angel had been told to sing for its life. But as I tried to to find the source of this holy cry, I was enveloped by hope, by genuine happiness. I had reached fulfillment.
It was then when I realized I was the angel. I was the conductor of the symphony of dreams. I was the conductor of the symphony of thoughts. And I and all those wonderful butterflies became one. We were complete again. We would never be forgotten here. We would never shrivel up. Our love was to be everlasting. We were to be everlasting. But then, mother reality hit us and struck down virginous faith. I took one good look at this mother, mad to see that she was concealing me from all my genuine thoughts, my lustrous feelings, and dreams. But this mother resembled no one else but me. I saw myself stare at me, half heartedly. Then I, as reality, asked myself, “How lucky are you to be alive, truly?” And when reality hit me again, I cried. “Indeed,” I cried out loud, “reality really does crash on hopes and dreams like a wave onto rocks. I know now where I stand.” And when the final wave hit me, I woke up, back at home. Feeling rejuvenated, I decided to go on a stroll.