Magic Carpet

I am a reflection of all that you stand for. I reserve a portion of your conscience that is most of the time, out of reach, and other times, indecisive. I am the opposite of the perpetual illusion which holds you, and yet, I am the figment of your imagination that you hold onto so dearly; like you’ll crumble into dust if the words slipping off my tongue leave you with a feeling of indifference. Of course, that isn’t true – I am just the me that becomes a part of you, but I’m not the one who made this so – you did. Let’s talk about magic.

There seems something magical in the cool, crisp air that transforms the sky to darkness just a little sooner than you’d hope. It brings out those daring thoughts and allows for the mischief up those sleeves to slip away unnoticed, in sly, smooth ways. My craving for the unknown has landed in front of me; daring, teasing, whispering, wanting, and calling me in as if nothing matters in the aftermath of insanity.

The mischief up my sleeves has adjusted so accurately that I’ve partially tuned out the wishy-washy nothingness of an ordinary existence. I delve deeper and deeper into something so much more than that, and satisfaction greets me with a warm embrace, exposing the progress of my character piece by piece.

There isn’t much left about normalcy that I long for. I flutter through the cool, crisp winds on what is built to be my magic carpet. I notice the things that you dismiss with indifference, and foolishly pity. Nothing and no one has a spot on my mind, but the sound of my breathing, and the chills along my skin. This is exactly where I want to be.