the product of when you really want to write something but you don’t know what-

by The Dreamer

it is 2017, and your grades are good enough to get you the scholarship you love, good enough to get into the course you want, and your heart feels like it is bursting at its seams.

it is 2017 and you are working as a part-time waitress in a cafe by the sea, serving exquisite tea and buttery scones to generous customers, pinching the cheeks of their newborns playfully as you whizz by and ruffling the fur of their golden retrievers. your good friend, now co-worker, yells “caramel macchiato!” to the cool, aloof barista and everything feels light and floaty that even your apron defies gravity when you move between the labyrinth of tables.

it is 2017 and you are in  your bed, editing your 30th short story and finally having the will and the energy to put the last full-stop on those haphazardly written drafts chucked aside and left to decay. you fall asleep with your specs on and wake up to many wonderful comments and a slow-but-steadily increasing hit count and nothing fills you up with more joy than knowing the story you have shared is now digested by another from across the world, hopefully enjoyed by them, hopefully lingering in their mind with a soft bright glow.

it is 2017 and you are rushing to your language class – korean or  french or sign language – after your aerobics exercise. you are back in shape and your mind is saturated with just the right amount of additional knowledge and it is all for yourself and you feel like you have your life back in its orbit.

it is 2017 and you are visiting the homes of the old folks that you have once upon a time promised to visit. you are playing duck duck goose with kindergarten kids and reading to them as they snuggle up to you.

it is 2017 and you are leaning your head against the cold window of an aeroplane, a million miles above ground. there is so much noise around you but you don’t mind because the noise is coming from the friends that are accompanying you for this trip. there is turbulence in the flight, and everyone screams in delight, and the jittery excitement fizzles its way to your toes and your fingertips.

it is 2017 and you are turning the last page of yet another wonderfully written novel and ticking it off your to-read list, marvelling at the number of strike-outs you have made in just a week and already planning what to borrow the next day on your next visit to the library.

it is 2017 and you are happy and free.

so pull through these 80 days.

the end is so near.

(such a daunting yet exciting thought.)

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