Wonder;;

Sometimes, I don't sleep.

This earth is too enchanting, and it's wonders fail to
cease at night as most deer settle down to sleep. The
sky opens up and expands further than our simple
imagination could ever fathom, and as the sun sinks
below the horizon, the stars finally come alive. They
shiver in place like fireflies, thousands of them, too
delicate for such clumsy hands as mine. But I know
they each hold the sheer splendor of our very sun,
warming the backs and beautiful faces of beasts so
far away.

So I search the stars and wonder if these distant
suns really do harbor distant planets like distant
Earths; worlds as fruitful and gorgeous as ours, alive
with creatures similar to us that also ponder the idea
of another paradise far out of reach-- another place,
hundreds of other places, that we'll never get to see
or smell, taste or feel. Worlds rich with land and life
quite unlike anything we'd ever be able to dream.
My dreams are plagued with them.

Always, my mind dissects the possibilities; I'm lost for
hours until the sun rears its regal head-- like the golden
mane of a lion, its rays chase the night away. Again
I'm trapped in another wonder as clouds curl and colors
like blood smear across the sky, still reminding me
that not all in life is perfect, nor is it ever quite as idyllic
as the simple thought of paradise.

Then I think, that if these worlds are just like ours, have
they felt the heat of anger? The nauseous bite of hate.
The cruel, cold ache of starvation. The ugly bloodshed
and barbaric thrill of war. The unplanned death of those
they love.
Do they even know love?

... I don't even know love.

Just the idea of it, of love, is as distant as the stars I watch
at night, and yet it's taken far more seriously than myself;
it's coddled and cooed about like a babe, passed around
amidst the giggling graces of those deemed superior to my
willowy, dreaming ways. They tell me I need to stop
dreaming, stop sleeping all day, stop looking for things in
the sky and then I'll finally get to live. But I feel so alive at
night, thriving on the spark of my very imagination-- my
home away from home, kept safe and warm in the humble
sanctuary of my very own thoughts.

They race around me. Hoofbeats like thunder, rising up
from the quaking ground below as they ride the rocky,
carved slopes of the earth with a kind of grace I've never
known. Stags fight, foals play, does dance and the world
spins without me as my limbs ache and my eyelids grow
heavy. They live the experiences of which I lay and think
about, and again my free will is stolen from me with another
thought. That perhaps, the fortune to experience life beyond
mere ponderings may be ours, and ours alone.

Maybe I'll find the answer in the stars ...

My name is Eden.
And I really don't know who I am.

The Endless Forest

(No subject)

Mmph.

Beautiful writing, and I love