If they took a look around, they would see all of what they dreamed of. But as I stand here in front of the crowd I see drifting, blind faces, that sway, but don’t change. The faces they wear are grey and dark, holes cut out so their cold souls see through. In a swarm they hover, their feet never used.
Her eyes are blue. Covered in dust she sits, not content with waiting. What she doesn’t see is that there’s no need to wait. All she has wanted-and more-lays at her feet, untouched. She’s itching to break free, and cast down her walls, but the stagnant air she breaths is not enough to lift the cloud. With will to scream I would wake her if I could. I would help her see she has her dreams, and can hold them too. But alas her ears are dumb. Much like the rest of them, deaf and blind and in a state of lost denial. I would shake her if I could, but you can’t be touched by what’s not there.
So I’ll sit here and watch, hoping one day she’ll know it herself. I ‘ll pray to the mercy of the universe. I’ll whisper her truths. If the years of this madness pass quickly, or end ubruptly, we’ll have to see.