Dreamers

Usually I have some idea of what I'm going to write before I write, but I think it might be more interesting if I just type whatever comes to mind. I'm supposed to have a creative mind, aren't I? That statement alone shows how cynical I've become, which really does worry me. I almost miss my dreamy self. I'm still dreamy, but I've become needy of someone to dream away with me. Anyone want to volunteer? Activities include staring at clouds, talking irrelevantly and yet deeply, and staring at the corners of the night sky trying to see a bit of hope here and there, with the idea that our dreams actually lead somewhere.

I especially would like a companion for the last one, because it seems unsafe to do something like that alone, even if I feel safe in my community a majority of the time.

The night sky really does interest me. I mean, how far can we really see from where we are? And yet, just by trying to look, we see farther than most. It's one of the few things in which one is so easily rewarded just for trying. All of the right words seem to fall out of the sky, bouncing on the earth and whisking away if one's hands are too hesitant. Speed doesn't matter in this equation, for there's no competition, unless everything absolutely must be a race. It's quite a glorious thing to witness, even if perfect peace must be given up for safety, and peace cannot be achieved without safety.

I wish my mind didn't have so many shadows of its own, so it could find shadows elsewhere and fill in the blanks where all of the dark spots are missing. One's own imagination seems bright, at best, even if dark imagination seems to go farther, like the night sky seems to hold so much more weight than the sky of the late afternoon. At whatever time of day, each moment spent in the sky and about the sky is a new mystery, a gift in the seas of the mind waiting to be stumbled upon whenever one is lost in that storm and needs some refuge. It'll never be an island like some things are in life, but it will be that little connection to home that makes one go forward, like fair winds in a bag.

I almost feel like I could have written a poem or something on this topic, but perhaps it's better to leave the mysteries where they belong and my thoughts to rest. They've already been solved anyway, so there's no point trying to pin them down. They're just not like that.