The only ones left can fly, or think they can.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Welcome to fantasy he heard, from a place far beyond what he could see.

He drifted, listlessly upon an ocean of his own thought, wandering the darkened echoing shadows of his mind until he entered wavering seas of open fields, flowers, petals alight in the gentle sunlight of morning. He was here, he was there, he was in a dream, long while the cold winter storm outside his window billowed and blew like the whispering rush of indifferent skies in the silent darkness above.

He was going to float here, in his mind, in his memory, in his thoughts in his feelings until the world around him swallowed whole, until life could begin to match the world he imagined in his own mind, r until something better could cocur. And until then he would be lost and alone in the confines of his skull, movement to movement, foot to foot, petal uon petal beneath a placid yellow sky.

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