Disclaimer: I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar - this is an entirely unedited Work In Progress and therefore my dyslexia will be on full display. ^_^; If I publish this, I'll get it edited, but for now, enjoy the rough draft - let's have fun!
It is in solitude that a man finds solace,
Yet it is in community that a man flourishes;
For man was made to make friends.
Grass, between my toes. I sink into the dampness, crushing the thin blades, and delight in the warm mud that oozes against my skin with a delicious tingling.
I have never known the sweet smell of grass, nor the feeling soil flush against bare skin. Just stories. Words. Pitiful words of longing. How could I comprehend a meadow, ablaze with golden flowers, when I had never once seen one? Was this image before me, with a wide blue sky, and long white clouds, even true?
Grandpapa, who had stayed behind, had told me that Earth had a blue sky, but what was the colour blue? Is it the shade of mother’s eyes, forlorn and lonely, lost forever in desolate despair?
Entrapped we both are, snared in the cold slumber of cryogenic sleep.
They told us that you do not dream in the icy cocoons—but I dream—extravagant dreams of green grass, golden flowers, and blue skies.
I dream of things I do not know; of things I not yet understand.
I dream of terror. Of an endless coming night. Of the stars going out—one—by—one
I dream of mother—
Of mother’s cries—
For no one can hear her—