Sometimes,
I close my eyes and dream of places I’d like to be. On seashores with
seashells where the gentle sunlight warms my shoulders. In a street
market, where a riot of colors and languages prevail, and vendors peddle
their goods in honey jars. Sometimes, I am on a boat, and sometimes, I
am looking down from a mountain. And sometimes, I think I know these
places where I am at, I’ve seen them before in High Definition(™) and
I’ve always known that those places would be exactly the way I’ve seen
them. I am always walking in Dream Istanbul and Dream Barcelona.
In those dreams, I am always in a colorful
dress and a camera (and sensible shoes, because we all know that in
dreams, we will walk a lot).
In these dream places, the island air blows
my chocolate brown hair into my eyes, and I always feel reborn, renewed
with each breath. I wonder idly whether I will have time to explore the
nooks and crannies of the city before we catch the next plane.
One day, it’s my dream that I will be able to
take up photography. I would like to compose pictures, like those
images which stamp themselves behind my eyelids. It’ll be like having an
eye in that part of my mind where I see still life and movement, and
where I could store each and every one of those memories that I shall
make.
(one day, I will buy a camera, I promise).
