.memory of a dream.Lifted up on wings of ivory dreamsI soar higher than any bird.Freed by fragile feathers of porcelainAway from my Hell of unbreakable concrete.Wisps of sunlight dance on my skinSweet champagne air tickles my tongueAbove the clouds I reach for my final tasteOf freedomAlarm klaxons blare from the sky aboveAnd my tranquility is shattered.I am jerked upright, left to face the dayWith just a memory of a dream.
NaNoWriMo entry teaserI wouldn't have noticed him that morning, had he not noticed me first. I always feel when I'm being looked at, whether it's merely a passing glance or an overly-stalker-like hour-long stare through cracked Venetian blinds. Being looked at gives me a bizarre sensation; a tingling, though not quite a bristling of the hairs on the back of my neck. It was a while ago - an early Saturday morning in January, some time around six. I urged my Boston terrier - a sweet little dog I'd had for eight years, ever since I was seventeen - to finish up her business so I could go back inside and fix myself some strong coffee - something I hadn't been able to do yet due to the animal's insistent begging and whining. I kept my eyes slanted downward, avoiding the imminent locking of eyes with a total stranger. It happened to me every day, each encounter more awkward, uncomfortable - and somewhat shorter - than the last. A tickling rush of air swept over the semi-exposed skin on the back of my neck, causing