| [tangible dreams] |
[29 Dec 2006|12:07am] |
You can build a world, son. If you want to...
It'd been some time since Klaha had thought of his mother as he remembered her from his childhood. That far gone wasted place where innocence ruled and the spikes of turmoil from his father had been the exception rather than the rule. When exactly had everything gone wrong, he wondered, staring at a blank sheet of paper as though the answer would manifest itself without benefit of a single pencil stroke.
You can build---
( worlds with a little effort )
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| [dance, baby] |
[27 Dec 2006|10:24pm] |
I dreamt of a world without boundaries.
A world where he stood center stage, a man powerful and successful in his own right. In the middle of his room, Klaha almost dared to sing, to keep his voice trained and ready for the day it would be released in cd after cd and in concert after concert. Surely his father couldn't deny him his future when he paved it himself.
Three songs later, all quietly sang where - he ever so fervently hoped - no one outside his room could hear, Klaha sagged against the bed. Ah, but he wasn't tired enough to sleep. Keeping up with a few more songs, silent just to be safe, he danced his way around the room and ended up back in the middle.
Yes, sir, that was exercise, feel the burn.
He could have gone outside, could have explored, could have left the little island of his safety to mingle among people with much less sanity than himself - but he didn't. Relaxed, he opted for the floor, back against the cold tiles and legs flat against the wall where the room was upside down. It was relaxing in its way that he let his eyes slip shut.
No, that's not dozing, that's meditation.
Yes, sir.
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