Dreaming

Mia Corts

I am golden hair that dances in the wind, unmanageable and tangled, but still glimmering softly in the sunlight— the moon glistening a delicate light in the middle of the day like a daydream.

Like riding a bike with no hands, balancing on branches high above the ground, dancing in the streetlight— the longer way home in a rush, just to finish my favorite song; the pink roses that float along the lake, forever dreaming of those I love.

I am a sunlit blue paint stroke covering the gray storm clouds, but just until I settle into my warm bed— a long nap in the afternoon, not because I’m tired, just so I can dream for a bit.