My pie in the sky
The illusions we allow ourselves are amusing, albeit, they remain just that.
Closing my eyes, allowing myself the luxury of pretense, I like to imagine I'm not the obvious failure I have become. It can be incredibly intoxicating, the joy one gets from simply disregarding the almost physical pressure of normal life.
That's why I tell stories with glamorous words, it's why I prefer to have my thoughts wandering about in the captivating pages of painted romance, watching characters fall in love and being simply happy.
I presume we can all agree, acquiring happiness has proven a feat worthy for a knight.. It remains an impossible task for many of us. In my fantasies, I childishly wish for a cabin in the middle of nowhere, maybe a charming little piece of land amidst majestic pine trees.
A babe in my arms as I nurse and a handsome patner to boot. My library would be a never-ending promise of unadulterated joy.
The porch my sacred reading grove as I lose myself in yet another splendid spiel about true love.
The dream always ends with me an old crone, sitting out on the porch, memories reminiscent of youthful laughter and teenage rebellion. The wind would calm me as I watched the sunset my hand resting peacefully on my loves side.
An uncomplicated and comfortable life separate from this toxic society, filled with effortless love and overflowing with valuable souvenirs.
The bubble always pops, and I'm always left feeling empty and alone, because waiting to have my life begin is a herculean feat like no other. Until my dreams are manifested into reality, all I can ever do is dream.