"i was a little girl alone in my little world,
who dreamed of a little home for me.
i played pretend between the trees,
and fed my houseguests bark and leaves,
and laughed in my pretty bed of green.
i had a dream,
that i could fly from the highest swing.
i had a dream."
when i do not feel well, when my bones ache and my head feels full of cobwebs and butterfly wings, i long for those moments when you can rely on another's strength, and arms, and care. it awakens some naive wishes that were borne of a little girl who still saw the world as wide and expansive, and still looked to my mother's eyes as something all-knowning and compassionate. i want to curl into a ball under a blanket, not necessarily to stay warm, but for that kind of safety and comfort. i long to lose myself in an inconsequential novel that i do not mind nodding off to sleep to, or a movie that i've seen many times over and again, that would easily give passage to dreams, just as easy as it would entertain.
looking back, though, it really never was that; not when i was sick, or young, or well. and all this is, right now, just my soul feeling worn out and my body feeling tired and ill. it makes me nostalgic (even if it is for things that never were), and it tends to turn my wants into dreams into longings into i wish that i could be a little less strong, just for a day.