I constantly dream
about opening my window and feeling the orange morning sun rise up between the
translucent buildings. I dream of living on the thirteenth floor, where luck
exists only for those who want to find it. I dream of city life, people rushing
by with opposite destinations but sharing goals. I dream of a spark that'll up
all of the sudden and take me exactly where my heart wants to go, since it
hasn't told my mind yet. That spark will help me avoid all the reds and wrong
turns through these streets.
I dream of people I
haven't met, hands I haven't held, steps I've never danced, words I haven't
written but are there, in some part of me, waiting to be spilled like a glass
of water, breaking with impact, making noise and spreading out wetting all
that's around.
In these dreams
there's always the proper music playing, rising like adrenaline with every
word, there's also time to think about the similarity that connects chances and
risks where there's an opportunity that is waiting to be taken.
There's peace...
But then,
I wake up.
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