It's hard to wake up when the warm breeze lulls you back to the field of dreams. Harder still, to bend beyond the rickety prongs where your livid body has decided to amalgamate itself upon. Way harder to fathom succumbing to the tempest of the angry sun... of the impatient wind... of the wailing rain... You yearn for the melodic cacophony of sounds... the music of your dreams.. You yearn to run and fight the gust of wind against your face, arms spread; your fingertips caressing the wind’s billowing robes, your bare feet amidst the velvety grass, and tears, oh beads of tears – pure sweet happiness streaming down your cheeks... You yearn to lie on the white powder-sand of the beach willing your toes to be licked by frolicking waters of the deep. You yearn to live a perpetual life, death being a foreign word. You yearn of yearning…
The creases in your forehead prickled with sweat until it flowed incessantly to the camber of your nape, down to the folds of your pillow, acting as a vessel of your anguish as it likewise serve as a receptacle of dreams. The white blanket enveloping the fullness of your body seems to be a strong blast of light in the verge of completely consummating all of darkness, until it is dark no more. And you continue to dream… Dream to yearn… Yearn to dream…
And so it was then that you have finally decided.
*dlas*
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