So this is something I wrote a little while ago and it's my explanation of a perfect day (which has not happened but I wish it would.)
Enjoy!
I
take a right at the end of the narrow passageway and am met with an identical one.
I sprint towards the light that always appears in the distance, but I can never
reach it. I hold out my hands to the walls of indestructible stone but feel
rain instead. I crouch down to touch the floor; water leisurely begins to
supply the passage. The moment I remove my hand, the water channels through an
invisible drain. There is a light breeze but there is no access to the outside
world. I’ve been trailing the hallway for hours, or so it seems, never meeting fatigue, hunger,
thirst, insanity, or perception of passing time. A new soft pale light begins
to blind my line of sight. The deceptions of this maze make it impossible to
formulate a plan, so instead I continue to run, and run, and run.
I wake up to a soft, pale, Saturday
light streaming through the glass of my windows. Walking over to look out outside,
I am welcomed to the world with a mysterious mist and a forest of evergreen
trees, only seen in the Pacific North West. I proceed to dress myself in
leggings and a soft sweater before making my way down the wooden staircase. My
cell phone rings to alert me of an incoming call from my best friend, her
message saying that she is outside my door and hungry. I let her inside, and she
and I attempt to create an extravagant breakfast for the both of us and eat it
while conversing and watching Grease.
Driving over to the local Barnes and
Noble, we purchase copious books with our infinite wealth set aside
strictly for novels. We then call up our closest friends and invite them to a lunch
in the trees.
While we eat, my friends and I discuss
everything from philosophy to our favorite types of pens. Our laughter enclosed
into our special space in the woods, great music playing softly from portable
speakers, red, black, and yellow plaid blankets wrapped around our shoulders.
Some of us start to feel cold raindrops penetrating our warm skin, those
raindrops soon morphing into a full on thunder and rainstorm. We start running,
dancing, and leaping our way to the nearest Starbucks.
Huddled up by the fire, we tell each other our recollections of how we met one
another. Bonding over Cinnamon Dolce Lattes, black coffee, and hot chocolates, observing
and listening to the storm as it washes all of our pasts away. We were only
then, only now, only in the precise moment that flitted away like a letter in
the wind.
When night falls and the storm passes,
we find ourselves back into the depths of the forest. Still enveloped in
blankets and clustered close, our drive for rest carries us to a creek in the
clearing. We each lie down, visions to the sky, our formation representing an
eight-pointed star. It is then that our voices fall silent. The trickling of
the playful creek dances to our left, the rustle of serious branches surrounds
us, the aroma of pine and water lingering in the pure air. Our minds drift to our
own thoughts, but no worries, and into the night sky that is so clear; you can
see every single star. The pure beauty of the moment rivals all others in the
history of the world. As we lie there as one, a luminous green glow overcame
its shy self and exposes itself among the stars. Its hypnotic energy appears
elegant and tranquil, the aurora borealis.
As we slowly let the promises of sleep engulf
us, an idea so sweet and so faint flutters across our thoughts. If each of our minds were in the
bustle and speed of our daily lives, we would have missed it. We all silently elect
that in the morning we would walk north until our legs could carry us no
further, and we once again met with our old, iridescent, green friend in the
sky.
-t
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