There is this place, and the wind brushes against my skin, goosebumps forming.
And my hair blows across my face like i'm floating in the deep lake in Alaska. The water is cold and I can feel the blood flowing through my icy veins.
The dirt clings to my feet as I emerge and lay amongst the autumn leaves. The sun is fighting. Because I don't want it to come. I want the sky to be grey and dull, so I can put the colour back in the world. So I can be myself without others thinking that the colour of the sky is anything but normal.
The air smells clean and pure.
And then its night, and i'm in someplace new.
The forest is pretty, I think. Roots protect their leaves like my arms wrap around me.
Green reminds me of the start, when I didn't know what others thought and I continued to develop as myself. A little fox trots by and I can sense her confinence. Her ease and power, how the red of her coat burns, burns too bright, like a forest fire. The trees cower.
Light bleeds and I stand in a library. Creativity seeps through the pages of books. Knowledge and ideas. Ideas.
The white of the snow.
The warmth of solitude.
Dream places,
miki
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