…written in the silence of a sunday afternoon…

She looked across the room and saw him, that dashing boy, his deep blue eyes penetrating and his dark brown hair just long enough without being too long. He looked in her direction and looked right through her. It wasn’t a romantic, he-could-see-into-my-soul type moment, it was almost as if she didn’t exist. His eyes continued to scan the room and rested on a petite blonde with a pretty face – they smiled at each other and the plain, brown haired girl felt invisible.

Alone, on the swing she sat, wondering why it was people say someone fell head over heels. After all, aren’t our heads always over our heels? Shouldn’t it be heels over head?

All she really wanted was to get away, to seek out friendlier skies, to escape reality. She was like Blanche DuBois, she wanted to be like Blanche DuBois, she didn’t want realism, she wanted magic! She wanted a holiday from real.

With pen in hand, she started writing. Would that I had the courage to tell him how I feel. If that courage were housed within me, I would write love to him so passionately, this pen would break at the intensity. she paused, pen poised in the air above the paper. But do I have this courage? Indeed not, I am a simple, silly schoolgirl without a hope in the world.

…a peace that comes in sleep
…the  fulfillment of fantasies that only comes in dreaming

would that i had the ability to control the dreams mine eye sees when it sees not the fallen, beautiful world waking eyes do view. if this ability i had, each night would be spent in restful slumber, and early would i hence, for the sooner i to bed, the sooner would i dream.

oh, and these dreams, and the wonders contained therein. such wonders could not be, and would not be recorded by simple keys on a net that connects the world, but would rather be penned in fine hand on crisp fine paper, for the tales in those dreams would be so fantastical if they were to be put in a journal for all to see none would believe it and would think the writer had devised it – which would indeed be the fact – though none would see the true beauty of it.

would that i had the ability to control dreams for tonight i would desire a story worthy of the most wondrous faerie tales, a story in the language of the Bard or the great Miss Austen, a story in which the prince is handsome, a story in which i am beautiful, a story in which there is love.

would that i had the ability to control dreams…