I was a little dreamer. Always having different ideas and large ambitions. Frequently needing, craving, and desiring a dream I never knew I wanted.
I was a lost Princess searching for her Prince. Daydreaming and night thinking about those green eyes that would save me from the darkness that consumed the perfect world around the perfect Princess. Completely in love with the idea of a pathetically sappy romance.
I was, at some point in my past, paranoid. Over thinking about the possibility of tripping over insomnia’s determination, being pulled by anxiety’s possessiveness, and being creeped on by depression’s stalker motives while becoming completely vulnerable to the demons chasing me. All those shifted visions and sharp head turns were for nothing, it was all in my head.
I am, in this point in my present existence, blinded by reality. It has ripped away any possibility of me ever thinking that that pathetically romantic sappy love story ever applied to me. I just look forward to hallucinating about the green eyes that look into mine with such an arousing pity, but never let myself think that it might all be real.
I am oblivious to words. Building up a strong shield blocking any promise of the unearthly humanity that lives outside my domestic comfort zone. When applied to my persona, you can really say, “…Words will never hurt me”. Or so it seems.
I am no longer… No longer longing to be saved by his green eyes, beating heart, and twisted smile; but pleading for those same bloodshot eyes to claim sanctuary from mine. Some part of me will always look forward to connecting my dull brown eyes to his bright, wonder full eyes.
I will be, in some point in my future, happy; living in a small flat in the middle of New York City, also known as The Big Apple, with a roommate that I found on craigslist. Dancing around in a t-shirt to old rock vinyl records with Chaos, my Dalmatian pup, dancing along with me; and my roommate, named “Bali” or “Rocco” or some other exotic name, reading the morning paper and complaining about how the rock band next door wouldn’t stop yelling and rehearsing last night. With the New York City air invading my small humble flat as it trails its way in through a cracked open window, or how I’ll find a way to and from my studying place, I’ll know I’ll be home.
I will be confident. Walking around The Big Apple owning the city like it was made specifically and especially for me. Dressed from head to toe in a faded vintage black outfit, and as my black 2012 Doc Martens clad my feet while they stomp on every small puddle in a childish manner, I’ll hold my head up high and know everything will be okay.
I will be a musician in New York City, the place a young artist wants to go to in order to discover themselves and find their music. Catch me in a few years playing pubs and local gigs, I’ll be up on stage discovering who I will truly become. In the midst of all the “self-discovery” commotion, I’ll find those electrifying green eyes– that have been following me my whole life– out in the audience; he won’t be the Prince I’ve dreamt about as kid… he’ll be better.