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I love this writing. The words paint a picture all their own…visual aids are just an added bonus =D
The music is a perfect companion to this piece.
Wistful, idyllic, a dream of times gone by, never to be recaptured. But not gone from memory. Never gone.
Wistful, idyllic, a dream of times gone by, never to be recaptured. But not gone from memory. Never gone.
I saw a dream, the other day.
The sky was like...music. I know, it sounds odd, but color doesn't do it justice. It can't describe the feel of the setting sun as it drapes it's majesty over the playful clouds in gold. I can't capture the quiet joy and reverent sadness, the tinge of remembrance and soft nostalgia, with words like turquoise and pink. I can describe the way it felt on my skin, how it...moved through me as I opened myself up to it, lilting and dancing like a melody, then settling in somewhere deep and quiet like the haunting harmony of an evening's lullaby.
There was a village, in this dream. There was a people, wandering the slopes and grasses under that musical sky. And...there were birds. Or at least, I think they were birds. Tell me, have you ever seen a house take off and fly? Or a...boat, dance upon the breeze like a leaf in the wind, then alight again as soft and gentle as a feather upon the earth? I wouldn't have thought it possible, had I not seen them. In some ways I still don't. Surely they must have been birds, and a people just learned to roost gracefully amidst their feathers.
What a beautiful people. Such a beautiful sky, such amazing birds. It truly was a gorgeous dream.
...but these are not my people. And this is not my dream. I am the moon, not yet welcome at the near-close of day, peeking out from behind a veil of luminous sky, like a thief in the dusk. Their songs are not mine to dance to, their sorrows are not mine to share. I can only hold on to this memory of color and song that I glimpsed in them, this piece of stolen starlight, in joy that they exist.
I saw a dream, the other day. It was not mine to see.
But I'm glad I did.
The sky was like...music. I know, it sounds odd, but color doesn't do it justice. It can't describe the feel of the setting sun as it drapes it's majesty over the playful clouds in gold. I can't capture the quiet joy and reverent sadness, the tinge of remembrance and soft nostalgia, with words like turquoise and pink. I can describe the way it felt on my skin, how it...moved through me as I opened myself up to it, lilting and dancing like a melody, then settling in somewhere deep and quiet like the haunting harmony of an evening's lullaby.
There was a village, in this dream. There was a people, wandering the slopes and grasses under that musical sky. And...there were birds. Or at least, I think they were birds. Tell me, have you ever seen a house take off and fly? Or a...boat, dance upon the breeze like a leaf in the wind, then alight again as soft and gentle as a feather upon the earth? I wouldn't have thought it possible, had I not seen them. In some ways I still don't. Surely they must have been birds, and a people just learned to roost gracefully amidst their feathers.
What a beautiful people. Such a beautiful sky, such amazing birds. It truly was a gorgeous dream.
...but these are not my people. And this is not my dream. I am the moon, not yet welcome at the near-close of day, peeking out from behind a veil of luminous sky, like a thief in the dusk. Their songs are not mine to dance to, their sorrows are not mine to share. I can only hold on to this memory of color and song that I glimpsed in them, this piece of stolen starlight, in joy that they exist.
I saw a dream, the other day. It was not mine to see.
But I'm glad I did.
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