You would not believe your eyes If ten million fireflies Lit up the world as I fell asleep
Slowly the sun sinks lower and lower, streaks of oranges and reds painting the sky, lighting it up like a painting. Sometimes I wish I could just freeze time, and stay in this moment, forever. No arguments. No distant calls of frustration. No noise, apart from the soothing crash of the ocean waves colliding with the sandy shore. In this moment it is peaceful, quiet, perfect. Seaweed scatters the shore, shells and other small object are made homes for small creatures. The wind rises and falls in my ears. The salty spray of the ocean surrounds me. I close my eyes. Memorising this moment, capturing it in my mind. I desperately want to go home, and grab my sketch book and lead pencils, but I do not want to lose this moment. This moment that I cling to so desperately.
Hi, my name is Magnus, and this is my story.
My long delicate fingers clutch the thin object in my hand. I watch as my hand moves over the paper in swift movement creating something wonderful. Finally I place the thin object in my hand down, beside the paper. It rolls slightly, but my fingers are fast, catching it as it slips off the table. As soon as my fingers come around the object I feel it familiarity, as if this object is part of me… I place the object down more carefully this time. It does not move. My fingers clutch the edge of the paper, gently, carefully I lift the piece of paper up so I could get a better look at the image in front of me. I sigh slightly.perfect. The picture is perfect.
Cause they'd fill the open air And leave tear drops everywhere You'd think me rude But I would just stand and stare
A smile creeps onto my thin lips, showing my teeth. My dark eyes linger on the image, taking in its beauty.It’s perfection. My dark eyes search every corner of the picture, looking for flaws. Of course the flaws exist, but they are what make this picture so right, so amazing. If there were no flaws, how could it be perfect? Flaws are what make picture, people, anything perfect. Without flaws, everyone would be the same. Flaws are how why we have personalities, flaws are why we are unique; flaws are why this picture is perfect. My smile only grows bigger, as my eyes wander over the image memorising each stroke that gives this picture its personality.
I place the picture down, letting my long legs guide me to my bedroom window. Immediately I am captured in the beauty of the world. My eyes scan the horizon eagerly, watching as the waves crash on the shore, watching as seagulls and other magnificent birds, with wide wings soar through the shy, free, safe, happy. I place my chin on my hands, and rest my elbows on the windowsill, letting myself be dragged away from this world, and lost in the world which roams with colours, and shines with beauty.
I'd like to make myself believe
That planet Earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems
I never used to be so caught up in beauty. I used to hate it; it used to fill me with anger. I would ask myself, “how could this place be so beautiful, but not me?” It wasn’t that I wasn’t beautiful on the outside, because I was. Dark hair, that flows over my forehead, but does not get in my eyes. Eyes as dark as muggy water, on a stormy day, but thoughtful. But I wasn’t beautiful on the inside. I was ugly, rotting away.
When I was much younger I never used to appreciate life. I used to be reckless, and put my life in danger. I used to believe that there was nothing in this world that could kill me. That I was immortal. I mean how could a boy like me die? Was that even possible? I knew the games could kill me, but I was never worried about the games, after all there are so many other children to choose from, so why would it be me? But then something changed my mind, forever. My parents disappeared. No one knows what happened to them, they were there one day, gone the next. Leaving us behind, to care for the store. Sometimes I think that they never really cared about us… But they didn’t matter, I still loved them- love them…
'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance
My heart beat harder in my chest as my mind travels back to my parents. My throat tightens and I suck air in, trying to loosen the knot in my throat. I will not cry. I am an 18 year old man. Men do not cry. I grit my teeth sucking the air though them. I shove the heel of my hands in my eyes, stopping the tears falling. They do not deserve my tears. They abandoned us. They left us. They do not deserve my pity. Out of all my symbolling I have taken their disappearance the worst. The others are furious, but they do little things, things such as helping me take care of the shop. Sometime I see one of them in their old room, just sitting there remembering the time we had spent together…
Slowly I resurface, dragging my eyes away from the beauty of the night sky, the stars that dance across the sky are like dancing ballerinas, elegant, graceful. The moon, round and whole in the sky, is like a giant eye, watching my every move. It seems to follow me as I move away from the window. My feet seem to be moving on their own accord, and in a matter of moments I find myself in front of my sketchbook. My perfect sketch, staring back up at me, daring me to pick up my pencil and create a new mater piece. I sit at the desk. Run my hand over the sketch, and a smile creeps out from deep within me. Perfect.
I'd like to make myself believe That planet Earth turns slowly It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep 'Cause everything is never as it seems