Dreams on Fire

I long to go where I can feel the immensity of the world. Somewhere I can be reminded that as individuals we are insignificant, but to one another we are often invaluable. There’s a special kind of intimacy to it. I need to know that I’m a part of something bigger. That’s where I find solace. Replace these stars with the city lights. Set flight to my dreams. Ignite the sky.

The best things. The things we build up so much. The things we are endlessly passionate about. Those things have the power to enrage and overjoy us. To improve and deploy us. To make and destroy us. I’ve always believed in having dreams so big that the ladder needed to reach them is seemingly never ending. Turn away from the task or climb rung by rung, step by step? The latter is daunting but it’s what I prefer, what I need, what I believe in. Entertain my faith. Faith is all relative. Defined only how you see fit. Faith in people, faith in dreams, faith in a sacred place. The only place I know who I am, who I’m not, and who I’m trying to be. A sanctuary of sorts.

I have much to sort out. Life, none of it and all of it, all at once. Caught in the limbo of anticipation. Constantly on the brink of change. Change everything. Nearly 17 short years. Young, but I’m not that bold. I’m not sold on the status quo. When all is said and done, and the caps have flown, what will be left to show? You can keep your prom queens and quarterback boyfriends. The illusion will be shattered. Will you be cut by the glass? Astonished when you realize none of it was built to last? Get drunk, get laid. Party it up. #YOLO? Hell no. Screaming shut the hell up. Grow up. Grow up. But not a sound escapes these lips. Nothing more than a girl who gave up trying to fit in. How many friends you have means nothing in the end.

I often said just wait, they’ll see. High school isn’t all it’s made out to be. At least not for me. One day after another, deciding who we’re going to be. Actions speaking so much louder than words. Words aren’t appreciated, words are merely heard. The art of listening has been lost. Everyone demanding to stand atop their own soap box with nothing intelligent to say. Go back to bed. You’re drunk, hung over, blazed, dazed. I’m crazed. Make it stop. You live your life and I’ll live mine. Now that’s just fine. My dreams mean too much to me to waste on your immaturities.

 I’ll be gone soon enough. Leaving all I know behind. I find one thing to be unmistakably true. I’ll be leaving all of you. I could lie and say I’m sad to go. But no. Nothing good comes from lies. A strong moral’s demise. I can’t wait for the end, so that I can finally begin. Replace these stars with the city lights. Set flight to my dreams. Ignite the sky. 

Found at a Loss.

I get lost in the way music lives inside your mind when you trap it between two headphones. I get lost in the way the world bows out and falls away piece by piece until nothing remains but your thoughts and the sweet melodies that guide them. I get lost in the beauty of the stillness and the sureness and the silence of a world on mute. I get lost in the overwhelming sense of being and self one gains as expectations and the constantly critical eyes descend with the sun. I get lost in the endless possibilities of wonderings and creations and revelations that take place when the sun sets and the curtain rises on a mind always on display, always pondering away. I get lost in the moments of the past and the great adventures of the tomorrows to come and the endless dimensions of impossible realities. I get lost in the beauty of simplicity and the intricacies of complexity. I get lost in your absence, in your silence, in your sly disappearance. I get lost in the perfect string of words stated ever so confidently at the precise moment of vulnerability, of opportunity. I get lost in two strangers greeting eye to eye and embracing each other with diversities set aside. I get lost in the whispers of the wind and the way the comforting sun feels when gracing bare skin. I get lost in the puzzle and the riddle and the mystery of why. I get lost in the false implications of love and the questioning and the questioning and the questioning of its existence. I get lost in your soul, in your eyes. I get lost in the lies and disguise. I get lost in the making of a moment that is sure to become a memory of the greatest kind. I get lost in the crash of thunder echoing off every towering building in the damp city and in the spark of lightning to remind us that there is light even in the darkest storms and in the grace and elegance of a shower of individual raindrops falling together as a seamless, unified mass. I get lost in the bravery of the trees to constantly undergo such drastic change. I get lost in syllables and punctuation and phonemes. I get lost in the way friends openly embrace one another with incredible amounts of unconditional love that never needs to be stated because it is constantly felt. I get lost in how absolutely spectacular individuality can be. I get lost in the way you lean against your car like you're Senna himself and the world is your racetrack. I get lost in the way the universe appears infinite but no one can be certain. I get lost in how insignificant our lovely emerald planet is. I get lost in the best things in the best ways and I couldn't be more grateful for each moment I spend at a complete and hopeless loss because those moments string together to create a life worth living.

Father Time

Time. What a strange concept. It’s entirely manmade for the mere purpose of convenience, yet it dictates everything that we do. It is honest and true but at the same time it can be so cruel. Who does Father Time think he is deciding when we come and go, how long we stay, and what’s left to show? Who is he to ask us to limit the minutes and hours our eyes spend gazing and who is he to keep these painful memories from fading? He owns this planet, these lives. Time becomes so standard that we don’t feel it slipping away, day by day. I’m so afraid I’ll never be able to string together the right words to express all I have to say before Time steals away the final breath before the phrase. And now everyone is lost in a daze, living in the haze of cyclical lifestyles until Time slaps them awake with an earthquake of events. Suddenly the world is shaken, people are mistaken, and so many are left to wonder why they’ve been left with no final goodbye. Turn your eyes up to the sky. Time never tells a lie. His hands are steady and strong but he’s done no wrong. He’s not the one at fault for being unable to come to a halt. The gears never cease to turn and no matter how much we yearn for one more day, for one more moment, it remains stolen and tucked away in the years of yesterday.

Time can be potent and cruel but looking at it from only one side just won’t do. As Time ticks on, skin falls layer by layer to form well-earned laugh lines from happier times. Worn out skin basks in beautiful contrast with eyes full of life, adventure, and wisdom. These wrinkles are not a sign of defeat, but an illustration of all the places you’ve been and all those you’ve been lucky to meet. Those who were claimed by Time himself live on within you. There’s nothing you can do to release them from Time’s strong grip, but don’t let them slip out of your memory, out of your eyes, out of your soul. As you grow old, allow them to age with you. It may prove to be a difficult thing to do, but don’t let that deter you. You have the strength and Father Time will be with you every step of the way. Your hair may turn grey and your energy may slowly fade, but I’m confident that you will go about parading with life and adventure and pure zest until the very end. Time shakes and awakes and takes pieces of people’s hearts and quietly asks you to embark on a journey of trust. It’s not an option, it’s a must. The journey is long, but once it’s completed, your pain will be depleted. Only then will Time begin to heal and make amends for the moments it had to steal.

Time is true. Time is tragic. Time is beautiful. I only hope it treats you kindly and you don’t parade about blindly assuming that it will never spring up from behind the curtain to make certain you never forget about it again. With Time, broken hearts will be amended and new people will be befriended. Memories will be made and young fears will be slayed. Those that have been claimed all too soon, will always occupy the room in heavy hearts until they’ve been lifted once more. Then they will be forever stored in your soul and with you, and Father Time, grow old. May Time be ever on your side and guide you towards the life worth living and may Time do some forgiving.