Finally Proud

She lay in bed, staring in wonder at the cover of her first book in print, and with a sleepy, soft prayer to heaven and tears in her eyes, she said, “I hope you are proud of me now, Mom.”
When her heavy eyelids closed, she was still in that place between being awake and dreaming, and she heard a soft, distant whispering in her ear say, “I always was.”
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Writer’s Block

My heart pounds in my chest as thoughts of bankrupting my family and being homeless fill my head with terror and my chest with pressure, all because I quit my job to follow my dream of writing full time.

I never realized a blank white page could shout fear enough to make my hands shake and hope enough to make me dream.

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Coma

You know, they say that the first sign that you’re in a coma dream is a message telling you to wake up. Won’t you please wake up?

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Time to Dream Again

Lifting up, up, up off of the crinkly papered bed, she floated aboard the majestic, wooden air ship, where she slow-danced with Prince Charming’s handsome son, wearing a flowing ball gown that sparkled like diamonds in the melting lip-gloss gold sunset that the circus animal crew – elephants and zebras wearing colorful hats and silly shirts – was working to sail into, paddling their oars rhythmically against tufts of cumulonimbus clouds as if silently marking the beat of her dance. This was her favorite place to go whenever Mommy and the doctor started talking about her cancer.

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This Is My Dream

The two brothers fought valiantly with their swords against a foe that outnumbered them tremendously, but now it was becoming apparent to the younger one that the enemy was gaining ground as they grew weary. Noticing his brother’s obvious concern and fatigue, big brother looked over smiling and said, “Don’t worry bro, this is my dream and we’re gonna win!”

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Drifted Passage

She held my hand and took me there, to her city in the sky, with its long twisting streets paved with heavy shadows that’d stick to the souls of your feet and leave echoing footsteps of flickering silhouettes.

I got lost up there, winding through the back alleys of her city where rainforests climbed up the sides of glass-walled skyscrapers, and deep canyons were lined with mass-transit trains built from the smooth golden pieces of great ancient clocks, gears spinning in the dappled sunlight that broken in through the high-voltage power lines and lush canopy of greenery; I got lost, and never returned home again.

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