xanaldie
There's a wall between us. It's invisible. Did you know that? Sometimes I look at you through that wall and wonder why we're together. Sometimes I words that drop from my tongue hit that wall and never some to you. You never get to hear them.
I am average, but that does not make me dull, boring or plain. After the rain stops and the gray clouds drift apart, a rainbow spreads throughout the blue sky. I may be seen as those dark gray clouds, but come inside my mind and you'll find more. I may not go scuba driving, travel the world, drink the finest and oldest wine, swim next to a whale, have a family related to Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe or James Dean--something people would awe at. Cut my hand and the blood that comes out is green, yellow or orange. I have no rainbow blood. I don't have the most amazing ideas that people drop their jaws for. I don't run away from explosives nor am I the hero or the damsel in distress. I am the average girl. The one who goes to school and the admires the ruffling leaves on the trees. They seem to whisper to me sometimes, and I pretend I could hear them. I am the girl with the bright eyes in my family of six. I am the girl who holds the pencil as a means of creative expression. Give me a canvas and I will paint a portrait of who I am inside.
We want to transport somewhere-anywhere. We want to go places we haven't seen nor touched. Me? What do I want to see? I want to feel the cool freeze gently tickle my face.
I hope I'll be missed by someone when I'm gone off the face of this earth. I don't them to cry, or punch a whole in the wall over the fact that I'm dead. If there's some way after death to know that I'll be missed by someone, then I'll know that there was someone out there that cared for me.
There it goes, I promised myself I would do this and that. To create something that was beyond imagination, but I lied to myself again. Repeat every year, yet I complain. This time is different.
The little girl opened the strange book in her closet. It was pristine in the way the embroidery covered the light thread of the fabric. She knew she wasn't suppose to. Her mother told her in these exact words: "Don't go near the book in the closet. Don't you dare go near that pretty book." But, the little girl thought, it was just a book. Dust particles danced in the sunlight that sneaked through the wooden creaks. Little did she know that opening the book would bring punishment and a blessing.
I paint on the canvas the whole world. I paint on the canvas with colors that belong to the sun and the night sky. I paint on the canvas the moon and and the translucent mist that covers it.
The boy saw the rocket fly into the moon. He wasn't sure how it got there, but somehow, someway the impossible happened. To him, this gave meaning. It gave him a right to start a new life and to believe.
writing since 2011 · 29 entries · 28 days shown up
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the words Tani reaches for
eyessometimesgirlsoulsunheadbooksinkingboybrighthearinsidecagelockpaintcanvas