Blabberings and Mumblings of a Restless Mind: December 2017

If dreams do come true,

why do I always wake up

with these empty arms?

Plié, Chassé, Jeté

Traversing through the graveled path on feet clad in beat-up sneakers caked with mud. Marching its way towards a patch of land with nothing but grass and wildflowers at hand. The sunlight streaking through the branches of century old trees swaying, the shadows creating the illusion of old souls dancing. She wiped the dirt off her pretty, plain face; before taking a curtsy as she took her place. For a moment, she is not the dirt-stricken girl clad in worn out jeans and beat up sneakers caked in mud. For in this secret world that she keeps, she can wear her tutu and pointe shoes at ease.

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Thursday, December 28, 2017

Dream, Dream, Dream