The Dream

December 11, 2011
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A breeze parts her hair, gently down the streaks. Her lips are dry and parched from the mid-winter chill. A tree stands behind her withered and cold, its outstretched arms reach around her to hold. It sends shivers down her spine and leaves her sewn lips gasping for air. The actress, the liar, the cheat, has fallen. The mask falls to the floor and shatters like glass. Her tears start falling down like the rain, so let it rain. For if this drought continues and the snow buries her deep, then who shall rescue, this girl as she sleeps? The ground rushes to meet her, hits her with its fist. It marks her cheek with a cold red slash, but shdoesn't’t arise. Shdoesn't’t exist, not a stir of life. The snow comes and starts it ritual, burying the dead of heart, the weak, and the helpless. Her body is consumed by its icy fire, its pitiful slumber. No stir, no movement, not a flicker of hope. Lost and beaten, forgotten by all. So is it time to start over? To turn a new leaf, and leave her ice tears below the snow and continue to freeze? The heap that once was, begins to melt. The blizzard that passed gives way to spring. Its tomb has finally opened. The girl arises and realizes it was all just a dream.

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