The nighttime city lights sparked artificially in and out of my consciousness as I contemplated what I had. When the images fell and my imagination won over, I saw the most beautiful dreams, blinding and burning white hot. The heat of it left a brand on my mind that ached constantly, and somehow, I felt it burn in my heart as well.
Dreams of the open road and western wind dashed across the planes of my cerebral imaginarium; a wide, wavering ocean swelled out at the end of the range; wolves traveled the same road I did, panting, snarling and howling freely into the chalky air; the rich, dusty orange canyons towered majestically on either side of me, and a sunset promising heaven burned over the horizon’s edge, igniting the treacherous waters.
I had never wanted anything more. It was the perfect picture of a boundless wild; a flaming illustration of longevity; a beautifully nomadic freedom.
And inside of me rose a dark love for unknown terror, and an obsession with freedom that pushed me dangerously towards the boundaries of a madness that left me staggering and astonished; seeing stars, and desperately clinging onto every breath of stale air.
But like those stars, my longings, by a single yet heavy-handed blow from reality; more loud but as unexpected as a thunderclap, tore across my galaxy of woven dreams; dashing and dividing them into a million separate pieces; sparkling and broken.
I wished on each glittering piece, however, as if on a star. Still. On and on… The burning madness and desperate desire flared weakly still in my heart and the aching of the long-ago-made brand continued to throb. My shattered spirit howled within me as wildly as wolves in times of sorrow; my heart, once a raging war drum, now brokenly droned on in sad reluctance; yet my mind continues to dream, to wish, and taste the leftover fragments of freedom in an unrealistic and unsated manner.
My ears are full of resounding sins and the footsteps of the blackness behind me.