Where am I at? Where am I going? Where do I want to be?
Bright clouds, calm sky. Warm inside. Lunch is waiting. Leaves translate the sunlight so I can understand. Kites become birds, and birds put away their sheet music. Everything alive is present, and everything dead is forgotten. Air is free from doubt and it carries away remnants of cold. Scars fade and stories flow. A scene washed in the color of wind and rain. Big words don’t topple and little words are king. Where eyes don’t deceive and voices only pull. Hands have pure motives and I can walk freely. And now I won’t put aside my telescope or return to the here and now. Fantasy is a safe island where I never need to cry.
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