c a r n i v a l
c a r n i v a l
Drabbles 100 | #25: Strangers | 185 words
you're caught in this merry-go-round
You wake up to airplanes and dictionaries, to the yearning of flight and the stagger of circles and curves, and you reach for the moon in hope that you’ll never have to land among the stars. You’re overwhelmed-the countless faces and names [twelve, they inform you], and you fear the jesters and puppets with the painted visages and try so hard to remember they are no longer empty faces without character after sharing their limelight few times so long.
But then you think-who are you to share their glamour? The soft-spoken Chinese boy who’s all knobby joints and crooked smiles, who falters a word at a time and dreams of childhood lullabies crackled with age. They had tried so hard to show you the highway to their familiarity but you can’t help but struggle with the dirt road that runs cleverly parallel, enfolding the little distance and strain of cultures that nevertheless leaves you lonely.
And you’re clutching the moon with your fingertips, tripping by your very heartstrings, and all of a sudden you want more than anything to fall among those stars.
Drabbles 100 | #25: Strangers | 185 words
you're caught in this merry-go-round
You wake up to airplanes and dictionaries, to the yearning of flight and the stagger of circles and curves, and you reach for the moon in hope that you’ll never have to land among the stars. You’re overwhelmed-the countless faces and names [twelve, they inform you], and you fear the jesters and puppets with the painted visages and try so hard to remember they are no longer empty faces without character after sharing their limelight few times so long.
But then you think-who are you to share their glamour? The soft-spoken Chinese boy who’s all knobby joints and crooked smiles, who falters a word at a time and dreams of childhood lullabies crackled with age. They had tried so hard to show you the highway to their familiarity but you can’t help but struggle with the dirt road that runs cleverly parallel, enfolding the little distance and strain of cultures that nevertheless leaves you lonely.
And you’re clutching the moon with your fingertips, tripping by your very heartstrings, and all of a sudden you want more than anything to fall among those stars.