I found myself in front of a field full of weeds. Nothing grew there.
There was no smell, but the smell of the dead. Of the living dead that someone once decided to name memories.
There were memories.
Oh memories…!, how you remain alive in a field that no more can give birth to flowers. The dirt is cracked and dry but used to live under my feet, so beautiful.
Oh memories of the time when the flowers grew high and still didn’t kept the sun from burning my eyes. What sweet blindness…
If I could face the magnificent light that eclipsed my eyes again and don’t get to see what these grown up eyes saw.
If I could only go back to the living earth, to the flying birds, to the blue sky and see again the friends that they never met.
I remember the flowers which roots wrapped around my feet.
I lived in this perfect jungle that kept growing with dreams that they never knew about and, if they did, they would call me crazy.
Then crazy I will be, if crazy is what I am for living in my head what their sky didn’t never let me.
My sky was different. Oh sweat sky, that had no color defined but was painted of all of them. Oh sweat sky, that of life kept my reminded.
I was living in my head and they could not ever take out of where I could run without falling and not being told that I couldn’t fly or climb the walls.
Who are they to tell me that I don’t have wings? Then fools are they, fools that never saw the roads and streets in my mind and will never understand any of my dreams.
They will never fly. Let me laugh when they say I can’t, while I’m actually flying, over their closed minds.
I was living in paradise and it was not so different from the real world, but yet so distant of reality.
They were looking to take me out of myself. They wanted to break me, they wanted to rip of my dreams until they fall on the ground and have no strength over conformity.
They didn’t want me to dream, they didn’t want me to live. And their life doesn’t worth living.
They’re dead, playing alive.
They walk, but they don’t think, they talk but they don’t dream.
How can they talk about anything without knowing the wonders of dreaming, of the fantasy land?
What do they talk about?
Do they comment the blue skies? Do they argument about which cloud is the best to lay in?
No, they don’t.
They fill their minds with emptiness that I kept away from me for so long.
They searched for me in the jungle, in my head. And, one day, they found me.
I got lost in my own jungle and they brought me here, to this world that I didn’t ever intend to understand.
I lost myself. Time took me away.
I stopped visiting that child that lived in my heart and, without the air that she had to breathe, she died. No dreams, no air.
I found myself in front of a field where nothing grew but weeds.
Oh, dear jungle!
Dear jungle … that didn’t get the rain from the sky where I used to fly through. No fantasy, no little rain drops to feed the hungry child.
I found myself in from of my jungle, that turned in to a garden that doesn’t grow.
She died. They killed her.
I wish that time came back and gave to me all the things that it didn’t asked for permission to take.
Come back time, don’t run! I’m running after you, in vain. You keep going and I desperate, run after you, screaming your name and crying realizing you will never come back.
Please time, stop!!
Stop, take a step back and breathe. Breathe out all the dreams you vanished, all the wings you ripped off, breathe out the child that you swallowed.
I’m growing up so fast and I’m not enjoying it.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid of them, of their crazy world.
Silly people that call me crazy, if they could only open their eyes and see where they sleep on, what they’re building.
Time, don’t, I beg you, please. Don’t take me away from me.
Give back the child that I used to be.
Lau'Ra
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