Curse the plotbunny!
So I had something to write and I wanted to get it off my heart.
It started when I turned seventeen. I hardly noticed it, at first, just dusky smoke carried on the cold breeze that swirled in my dreams. I didn't know what it was; I hadn't lived enough to realize that where there's smoke there's a fire somewhere. And I was never one for letting embers die.
The first sign that something important had changed was when I lost all motivation to be idle. I paced lines in the green carpet next to the window, imagining it grass beneath my feet. My dreams, always surreal, grew more fevered in their intensity: I had somewhere to be, fast, and time was running out. I saw cobalt skies and icy clouds behind my eyelids, and longed.
When I turned eighteen, eyes wild and defiant, I knew what I had to do. There was a calling, something that had drawn me for years from the West that I had to follow. It was beyond words; there was only the gut-deep sensation of wanting something so badly that I choked in the mornings. I woke with tangled sheets and after-images of restless dreams, tired even after so much sleep. I yearned to sing songs that were in my blood.
I felt the want inside my chest and left.
It started when I turned seventeen. I hardly noticed it, at first, just dusky smoke carried on the cold breeze that swirled in my dreams. I didn't know what it was; I hadn't lived enough to realize that where there's smoke there's a fire somewhere. And I was never one for letting embers die.
The first sign that something important had changed was when I lost all motivation to be idle. I paced lines in the green carpet next to the window, imagining it grass beneath my feet. My dreams, always surreal, grew more fevered in their intensity: I had somewhere to be, fast, and time was running out. I saw cobalt skies and icy clouds behind my eyelids, and longed.
When I turned eighteen, eyes wild and defiant, I knew what I had to do. There was a calling, something that had drawn me for years from the West that I had to follow. It was beyond words; there was only the gut-deep sensation of wanting something so badly that I choked in the mornings. I woke with tangled sheets and after-images of restless dreams, tired even after so much sleep. I yearned to sing songs that were in my blood.
I felt the want inside my chest and left.