Coptopaxi Oktoberquest

City of Dreams

The fast pace. The tall buildings. The mix of casual and sophisticated styles. I think it's safe to say, I've fallen in love. So many people chasing after their dreams in a city so different from where I normally reside. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to leave my life behind and come here to make my dream a reality. My mind momentarily settles on that thought, imagining me rushing up and down streets with a coffee cup in hand, going to appointments with important meetings and contracts to sign, having people recognize my name all across NYC and posted along Chicago streets...but that thought is quickly set aside as the 'El' train lurches to a stop and the crowd whisks me out the doors and down to the street below. I briefly pause, not knowing which direction to go, before letting the crowd carry me down the sidewalk, toward the orange sunset, bordered by those tall glass buildings, in the city of dreams.

Wanderlust

The world is beautiful.

So is humanity.

Most people detest the idea of airports--the long lines, the security checks, masses of people, rushes and delays; I find it beautiful. All those people, together, for just one moment before they all depart for their various destinations. All those different adventures to be had, lessons to be learned.
 I don't just want to visit far away places, I want to travel. I want to be  a part of those masses rushing through airports dragging their carry-on luggage. I want to experience the world, the cultures, the people, the stories. I want to find the best parts of this world, the best parts of humanity, and make it part of who I am. It's that Southern Hospitality I found in the ATL airport, it's meaningful airplane and elevator conversations, it's the woman that came and did sunrise yoga on the beach with me, it's the little girl that held my hand as I shared with her our little hermit crab friend, it's seeing a soldier come home from Afghanistan and kiss his baby boy for the first time, it's our Waffle House waitress with the smoke-ridden raspy voice who shared with us a part of herself, it's the stories and the places that create those stories, it is what makes me proud to be a part of humanity.

I will never cease to be amazed by airplanes. Hundreds of people, along with their luggage, in addition to all the lightly roasted peanuts and coca-cola products; all lifted into the air by a huge metal bird. Lifted by air. How air manages to accomplish so much I'll never understand. Nonetheless, I love watching the houses merge into mountains and the quilt of fields appear--all the green and brown circles and squares. It's a beautiful world, created by God, and I will experience it. No longer am I saying someday, I'm sick of everyone saying, "someday I want to travel the world", I'm making someday today and and that want into a will.

I will travel the world today.

There's those that say they want to change the world. Well guess what, that's kinda hard to do sitting on your butt playing video games all day.
All I'm saying is if you want something, go get it. Go do something. Go start changing the world by changing someone's life, go start traveling the world by recognizing what is right around you. It's a beautiful place with beautiful people and I need to learn a new word to describe beautiful things besides  beautiful. But for now that's the only word in my vocabulary to describe my current life, this world and people: beautiful. 

Summer Night

The branch below me cracks,

faltering my steady grip.

The moonlight filters and

the leaves cast shadows,

shadows of a summer night.

The dark warm air circles,

embracing my aching soul.

The bark is rough and rigid,

like a friend's hard-working hands.

So I hold it tight,

like I did back then,

on that long-lost summer night.

The moon is high,

yet the world's alive,

beneath me there is chirping.

I listen close,

and soon I hear

those words he softly whispered.

Words which are only heard

in my secret summer night. 

Her mind is often filled with the sound of his voice saying her name, a sound she hasn't heard for some time. She thinks back to that day, a year ago today, when his arms cradled her broken heart and his shirt captured her falling tears. Only the stars in the sky witnessed that night, a moment where all was right. Now all alone, her emotions again penetrate the back of her eyes. A silent stream of tears roll down her rosy cheeks, turning her eyes a vibrant shade of blue. She dreams of his presence beside her again, this time accompanied by a promise to never leave. In desperation, she unfolds the small pieces of paper constantly contained within the confines of her back jean pocket, hoping to find a piece of him.
As she read those words upon the worn-out paper, the barrier of distance and time was demolished by the simple, "I miss you's" and, suddenly, he patched up the weathering surface of the little muscle in her chest.  Each line she read was as if he was by her side, speaking the words himself. It was almost as if he had never gone. And I guess he was never really gone; for she can always find him dancing around her thoughts.
I gave you my heart the moment we met, and good thing I did, because you have a way of mending it's brokenness when you say "I love you".

A Little Love Note

My Sunday nights consist of me sipping hot coca while refreshing my email, waiting for him to respond.

I love words, especially written words, because something in writ can never be erased. Even if every email was deleted, every letter burned, those words would forever be written on my heart.

Finding his unopened letter beside my desk, just awaiting my discovery. There was something in that, more than just the paper enclosed, a feeling that penetrated my heart. I cried over that note. For every word was exactly what I needed to hear. Ironically I tweeted just moments before, "He always knows what to say, too bad he's far far away." Well apparently distance cannot separate love, if that's what this is.

I guess there's just something to seeing the words 'I love you' rather than letting them dissipate through the air. Although, I'd really love to hear those words whispered in my ear. I miss him dearly, I really do, but love has no time. So I'll continue collecting these hand written notes, stashed away in my night stand, and maybe one day we'll look back and see they've become the pages of our love story.

My Fantasy Land

Lately I've been living in a world of fictional stories and impossible romance. I've lost myself in other worlds hoping to escape the reality of my own. It's not even that my real life is all that bad or stressful, I just would much rather reside inside these pages of books and movie film. I find a fantastic wonder among these tales. It makes me wonder if I'll ever find love so irresistibly true. There must be at least some truth to every imaginary image. Each idea, I believe, has to at least be rooted in a real life experience, memory or feeling. And with that, I believe in imaginative ideals. I believe that true love exists. I believe that I, as an individual, can use my unique attributes to contribute to the world. I believe that I, in fact, can change the world. I believe in all things good. I believe that we can become whatever we want if we try hard enough. That is why I love living in these fantastical worlds, because I'm a dreamer, and I have this weird obsession with turning dreams into realities. Some might say I'm crazy, but in the end, it's the crazy ones, not the normal, who end up changing the world.