I have hovered into nothingness

As the night closes into morning light I have remembered how it feels like to be human again. Feeling pain, feeling how to be a nobody. It was back where we all started.

I went to bed as the sun shone over the city, covered my face with a pillow to be bounded by darkness. After a few minutes I fell asleep, as if it was night time.

Darkness fell upon the the sky and there were streaks of light falling down on different paths. I thought of who might saw those falling stars and whose wishes would be granted. I didn't made a wish, but my heart did.

I held on tight to a dream I have ever since I was a child, writing and painting dreams. I have colored my life with blacks, grays and whites, with splashes of colors here and there.

I stood there in front of my easel with a brush in my hands and a palette on the other. It;s been a few years, I have hovered into nothingness. Pretended not to care or to exist.

I picked up my brush dabbed reds into my painting, a bit of yellows and greens. I have created a monster, because that is who I became. Labeled by my own standards, owned by selfish thoughts.

I will paint a wall.

I painted a world that didn't exist.

Curved buildings, flying humans, multi-colored skies, yellow waters, humanoids even. - a wild sky dream.

It was surreal.

what is surreal? surrealism? - simultaneous dream-memory of everything.

I screamed and shouted for cold water, I was in the inner most part of the furthest province. I threw the plastic glass of water to my grand father. I demanded for cold water or even Ice. He has to go through all the barrios to the city. He then came back with a big block of ice and mineral water. He came back after 4 hours. Yes, we were that far from the city.

My mom decided to banish me to the province, cause I have been such a pain in the a** at home.

My grandpa wasn't allowed to smoke, he has this lung problem. I was roaming around the yard when I saw a pack of cigarettes on a branch of a tree. Clever. My grandpa hid it there so no one could see, but I was too sneaky to not notice.

Then the next thing I knew was that I was smoking that pack of cigarette with my granny. Conversations about life and on what a brat I am. He then remembered being the same when he was a child. He didn't puff cigarettes but smoking pipes with the Spanish soldiers. My grandpa is Spanish. He was also a problem to the family so he was sent to the provinces.

You will share this someday, with the world. You will be great, unlike me.

But he was my inspiration. He wrote things I had never thought of. But he left the earth with an unlikely mark; of not wanting to live but leaving the world with a mystery of how he lived.

I have completed my day, I covered my short body with my blanket, puffed my head on to the pillow, turned off the lights and opened my mind to new dreams to write about.