I spent all our nights
Searching your iridescent scarf
For constellations that weave together
Our distanced stars
I spent all our nights
Searching your iridescent scarf
For constellations that weave together
Our distanced stars
And I saw the faintest hint of a smile curl around her lips as she pursed them close and let happiness do a little dance in the bright celestial light in her eyes. Believe me, I saw the beginning of a smile on her face, and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
The turquoise painted edges of her long, beautiful eyelashes glittered under the spotlight like the rarest sea diamonds. The white strokes on the other end looked like the exquisite trademarks of an artist. She stood there, as the curtains closed and the sparkling spotlight withdrew, looking like the most beautifully completed painting. In front of her the crowd broke into a storm of applause, for she had indeed touched them with her brilliance.
She danced like a swan, Mavis. The most beautiful, graceful and elegant swan. Her skin was the warm colour of dusk, difficult to discern even on the most vivid palette; its hue flowed symmetrically from her neck to her toes like smooth caramel. As she turned succinctly to the song, it seemed as if she was yet another melodious note in the music. She danced with rhythm and freedom in the most non-contradictory fashion; she was her stage, and the stage was hers. It was as if a pink feather had befriended the wind, and had agreed to dance her first dance with him – Mavis was a joyous bird in the sky, who had captured my pale heart with her spirit.
In her dance, people saw art. She indeed had a gift, and she knew how to portray it. But as she moved effortlessly on the grand stage, the spotlight fit on her like her own shadow, I saw her pain, as I saw every day when she sat in quiet moments and glimpsed at the sky. The crowd which awed and gasped around me was only aware of the many meanings and feelings she projected with the melody; but it was only I who knew that she was also a reflection of the tornado of emotions within her – she was the expression of her own pain and wretchedness – the most beautiful fire birthed by bruised stones.
As she danced on that stage she would often curl within her own soul and unfurl herself like a dazzling magic trick. She would wind and unwind like a rope, and rise and fall like a wave in the sea. As she twirled into the fancy circles of complex musicality, eagle-like posture and ingeniously immaculate, she would often shred away the cobwebs of tragedy which her heart housed. In her breathless revolutions she would become unmindful of her pain and she would dare to become a person who hadn’t seen the dark machinations of fate. It was as if her dance allowed her to dive deep into the dark rum of life, and let go.
And when she paused to breathe, culminating her art with the most perfect movement, preparing to bow, she raised her head a little high and looked across the blinding lights at the sea of people which looked back at her, some with tears in eyes and clasped hands, just about to break into a thunderous applause. And just before she bowed she would let the moment seize her and purse her lips together allowing a small grin to curl on the damp shore of her lips, and happiness would vehemently dance within her glittering eyes, and I swear in that moment I can spot, the beginning of a smile.
And it happens but rarely in life that some beginnings are so beautiful that you wish to stay stuck in them forever and never see the journey they were meant to start.
Is it strange that my beauty is your gift to me? Is it outrageous to accept that it is in you that I see a reflection of all that is good in me, and that without you I am estranged?
I am afraid it is the truth.
You found me wounded and scarred, discovered me in the vacuum filled darkness of space and time, and healed me. You made me laugh and cry and rejoice and express the songs of my soul, and gave life to my dreams little by little. Your ways – subtle and natural, your love- impeccable. Never before had I known what real happiness feels like, and that it can be induced by the simplicity of a certain glittering smile.
As I rest in the lap of emptiness, I am filled with a continuous glee, given simply by your existence. It is indulged by the confidence of knowing that each young day, you shall rise, and capture me in your warm embrace, and for those still moments in time, I shall let your love humour me.
In the sound of your heartbeat I have found complete peace, and to be with you, is all I wish to do anymore; all my other dreams seem so little and obscure before this colossal desire. No star will ever let me shine the same way that you have, and none ever has. You have torn away from me my fear of the dark, and put in its place an immeasurable love for the dusk. I, the proprietress of time, submit to the clock each day in your wait.
You have taught me, unconsciously, that I must take that lovely chance, that I must be brave to fall in love, that I must shine and escape the walls of blackness that shutter my heart. And though the probability of things falling apart is inordinate, the prospects in the case they do not are gloriously marvellous. But of this you shall forever remain unaware, my fathomless star, for I am wordless as I am imperfect, and incomplete are my words.
Albeit, words unfold on paper today, unlike ever before, but perhaps it is just a fortunate night.
So, I must cease the moment to thank you, my love, even though it does not in the least quantify my passions. Thank you, for glowing upon me blessedly like omnipresent time in the dark of the night. Thank you for pasting the bruises I make on the sea, and the thunder I roll upon dusk – you have tolerated my habitual imperfection, my flaws, my mistakes and sloppiness with the grace of your ever-powerful love; it has made me want to be better, it has made me look at myself and wonder in thoughtful starlight of pathways to be my best self, and to be less reliant and less savage, so that I can at least begin to deserve the magnum of love that you have given me openly and without hesitance.
Thank you for being my strength love, for helping me shine brighter than the beautiful glow-worms, and the truest stars, and leading me to believe that I am the brightest star in the sky, that I am more beautiful than I know, that within me too is a sparkle that can be admired, and that I can, if I try, be more infinite than the galaxy of self-criticism which contains me.
Today, I can dream your dreams and look into your eyes, and surrender to the labyrinths they house without fear, for you my love are my strength, and my entirety, and it might seem bizarre that to me, getting lost in you is to be found. I will love you tomorrow as I love you today for the love you have shone upon me. I will love you as much as this infinite space, and I will love you more. I will love you now, and I will love you a lot, and I will love you always my moon.
And yes, as the hour of the eclipse draws closer, it breaks me little by little. It scares me because it threatens to pull us apart. As you fade away slowly, farther and farther away from me; my glory recedes with your light. However, today, in a very long time, the narcissism of my heart escapes me, for my love for you is outwardly greater than that – countless like the infinite stars in the Earth-sky. Nonetheless, the promise of the darkness passing, of burning in your sunshine again, fascinates me, as I tumble into love with you one more time.
Does it still seem strange that my beauty is your gift to me? Is it despicable to accept that it is in you that I see the best reflection of myself, and that without you I am unknown? Maybe it is my love, yet it is only true.
Do you dream reader? Do you? I hope you do. And I hope you dream awfully colourful because dreams have an amazing amount of power.
Well, I do mean dreams. Yes, do not give me that dazzled look.
Coming to you in lost sleep, brewing up on a canvas of sheer darkness, behind the careless screen of your eyes, to give your life a 360° turn. All your life you’ve been planning to be a doctor, and one moment you dream of dancing on the stage, doing tango, and your life is changed completely.
Dreams have the power to make you wish. They allow you to live your faint memories, and experience out of the world moments, and within these moments that you live your dreams you can forget about the reality and adjust the implausible to be real. Dreams offer you rooms of escape from the wishy-washy insipid concept of realism.
They allow you to breathe life into the dim reveries that come afloat in the brackish waters of your subconscious. Dreams, they instil in you a will to see beyond your goals.
A dream isn’t vain squiggling and visualizing. It is more like sanguinity on water. A dream is like a lit fuse, it can spark on just the right wick in time. Every single time you dream, your hidden, scared and suppressed desires get to be on celluloid. A dream alongside making you aware of your passion, is all the propelling you need.
But above everything else, a dream is powerful because it can make you want.
Twilight, came to Stephenie Meyer in a dream. And look what miracles it has done.
Dreams are windows to things you didn’t know you could possibly think about, but actually, they are what you have always wanted. Dreams are like the spurs that make you want to achieve something you understood way beyond your reach. But I believe, if you can envision it, you can very well achieve it. Never underestimate a dream. Sometimes it is all you need.
It is like the wisp and abracadabra from a magic wand. But, dreams aren’t magic which foretell the future and picture the execution of your desire, all they do is generate just a certain degree of want within you to make it happen. Those few moments of subconscious heedlessness can brew in you the fire to achieve. For these very few moments which allow you to live, imagine and experience how being in a particular wonderful moment can be like, swivel and grease your rusty will which had given up trying to achieve them.
All of a sudden, with the click of a finger, it can rouse desire. Dreams are a structure of hope and wishes and taffeta like desires. They are the simplest version of motivation. The most effortless push you need. Brewing at the back of your mind, working while you are defenceless and disarmed, and subtly unconscious in tranquil sleep, like mute shadow villains from black and white films walking on their toes, creating miracles, and changing the plus ça change.
Dreams are very different from thoughts and ideas. They make you imagine what you could have never thought of. They let you envisage and assess the possibilities of something you never knew you could have supposed. Unlike thoughts, which you plan and magistrate knowingly, dreams tell us about the clandestine wishes and lusts which you have been too shy and afraid to word and translate into thoughts.
What many thoughts cannot do put together, is a piece of cake for a dream.
Dreams can allow you to get there, unlike thoughts, and not just in factious fashion I mean. Really. Like I say, dreams propel desire. They make you want.
I hope I have convinced you just enough of how powerful and potent enough your dreams are. And even though I am as sure as God made little green apples, that you wouldn’t dare to underestimate them, I would like to chuck in here that your dreams are truly yours, and it is you, only you who can accomplish them, that power is truly solemnly yours, but so glad, you have it.
Dreams are piece of sky, aren’t they? But I am pretty sure they have a castle amidst the clouds. And that there is a road which leads to it. A road you can walk on. All you need to do, is start.
In a scene in the movie Tangled, Rapunzel asks Flyyn “I’ve been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”
He says it will be. What if it is, what do I do then, asks Rapunzel. He tells her (and wins my heart) that that’s the good part – you get to go find a new dream.
And that is the beauty of it. Its spectacle of power. I don’t say dreams are powerful for they come true, but I say, they are powerful for they can. That is all.