The city sleeps. A hushed, indifferent giant. But not I. My eyes, they refuse the soft tyranny of eyelids, wide open to a darkness that holds more than just shadows—it holds a question mark, a gnawing echo of what isn't yet. The cold seep from the windowpane is a stark reminder of the world’s slumber, a world deaf to the thrumming beat beneath my ribs. It’s always been there, this hum, this whisper of a path less trodden, a melody only I can hear.
Others see the ordinary, the daily grind. They don’t see the wild, untamed garden I cultivate within, its blossoms yearning for sun that never seems to pierce the concrete sky I inhabit. I press my forehead against the glass, the chill a sharp clarity. Tonight, the gap between what is and what could be feels vast as the chasm between stars. My dream, it feels like a secret whispered into a hurricane, unheard, unfelt. The silence of the room, of the entire city, presses down, threatening to flatten it, to suffocate the last ember. A tremor begins deep inside, a quiet rage at the injustice of it all, at the audacity of a heart that dares to dream so fiercely when all signs point to futility.
My breath hitches. Then, a streak—a brief, searing calligraphy across the black canvas above. Not a plane, not a trick of light. A raw, unadulterated slice of possibility. It rips through the static, a defiant whisper from the cosmos itself. In that fleeting flash, something snaps. This isn't just a wish; it's the very marrow of me. And even if no one else ever sees it, even if the world remains blind and deaf to its brilliant, impossible glow, I will carry it. I will nurture it. This fire, this restless current, it is mine. It is unyielding. It is me. And I will not let it die. The words don't leave my lips, but they scream in the cavern of my chest, a roar that shakes the very foundations of my being.
The air still hums with the echo of that sudden, defiant light. My chest, though still tight with the force of that internal eruption, now holds a different kind of quiet. A fierce, resolute calm. The world outside still sleeps, oblivious, but I am awake in a new way. The stars, once distant observers, now feel like silent conspirators. 'I'm fine,' a voice seems to whisper, not from outside, but from the deepest, most resilient part of my own spirit. Yes. I am fine. More than fine. I am alive, and my dream, though unseen, burns brighter than any falling star.