And so summer turns to fall with a taste of winter, and here I am again. The sounds are the same but the feelings are different, and I struggle with these words on my page. They're asking for my justifications. They're asking for my self. I'm not sure how to answer.
Maybe I will tell them of my dreams of dancing, of feet barefoot on sand, of flying. I'll describe the taste of passion, its saltwater sweetness, and how it trickles before it falls. I'll tell them of yearning, of mornings spent with sunrises and of evenings with sleepless dreams. I'll smile. They'll laugh. We'll live in our world of pretendings.
I want it too much.
That makes things dangerous.
That means it's going to hurt.
I've been teaching myself to face reality, but it is so easy to drift into dreams, into worlds of limitless possibilities and unindentured hope. I think you understand.
Tonight I miss the ocean. I want to go back home.
