by Cleo Carelse
I grew up believing the world was a wish granting factory,
That if I look up to the night sky and wish upon a star all my dreams will come true.
“Oh, young, silly child.
How naïve can you be.
Your mind fooled by lies, wishes and dreams.
What does that even mean?
It’s time to pack away the ballerina musical box.
Dreams are for sleeping, let them be. You’ll soon grow out of this childlike phase indeed.”
I don’t want to live a life of hopelessness.
To go by each day fighting for meaning.
I matter.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
I don’t want to die regretting that I haven’t lived.
I want to be somebody.
But still the tiny ballerina in my music box remains on my bedroom night stand,
Dances delicately and fragile to each note.
It whispers songs of infinite possibilities. -
I wake up to a flash of light, which ever so often races past my window.
Bright as it burns keeping the empty promises away.
Most people don’t understand the promises they make, until they make them.
We living a life constantly wondering what the next person will think, it’s exhausting.
Let’s face the facts; there will always be someone prettier, smarter, funnier and talented than you.
But that shouldn’t mean I am any less.
I think it’s time to change the narrative.
I am after all the main character of this story.
There is beauty in the eye of the beholder.
Do you not see it?
The wonder and that fills the air.
It’s all around you.
It’s gives life to inanimate objects.
It’s that nostalgic feeling we had in our childhood when magic was real.
We know it’s there,
We just need to pursue it.
Are you beginning to believe?
Just like the tiny ballerina’s dancing must come to an end,
But I’ll be back chasing tomorrow again.
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