If only she could daydream every day…

The warm rays of the sun penetrate her face, concealing all of her imperfections as she walks down an unbeaten path. She observes, pondering at the woman in her garden who is making a masterpiece with her weathered hands. The blossoms are so vibrant on a tree, overhanging the fence that is failing to divide all that is theirs from the rest of the world. The sounds of the busy street lying behind her are gone. She imagines that they aren’t a part of her spiralling reality. She listens to the buzz of the lonesome lawnmower, pushed by an employee of city maintenance that is at the park ahead of her. Smiles from strangers that pass by. Inviting colours emitted from the nearby dandelions. She forgot what solitude was like until now. She heads home. Stolen porches await to be occupied by those who are more appreciative of their existence. Graffitied stop signs pause the lives of those who pass by, somehow providing order within the madness. She turns the corner. Nobody to observe on this street. Maybe it isn’t company she needs. Only her mind, eyes and life around her. Shoes strung up on the powerlines above. She thinks about the effort that was put into it. There is an unused and possibly uneffective fire hydrant, painted in muted red and blue, awaiting its requirement. Waves from the innocent children in their stollers are shyly accepted. Cotton Drive. Sounds like a fairytale beginning, but for her it’s just a speck on the line of her everchanging state of being. The sound of a hand modestly stumming the strings of an acoustic guitar from the neighbours yard fills her ears. She wishes this day could last forever. She wishes that responsibilities were less prominant in her life. If only she could daydream every day…



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