Reaching for the Stars
Cradled Dreams
A little girl reaches for the stars. They dance just out of reach, flitting between her fingertips like fireflies. She stands on her tiptoes, believing her height is the only thing holding her back.
Years speed by like cars on an isolated highway.
Dreams are packed away in boxes under her bed, some to be rediscovered later. Some, cradled in her palms like a good book.
A woman reaches for a pen. The ink swirls beneath her hand, flowing from her like rivers from a mountaintop.
A woman writes about a girl reaching, and grasping the stars.
About the Creator
Poppy
poetry in progress
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
I adore this, Poppy. It's so heartwarming and beautifully written, as always.
Beautiful & utterly charming.