a few weeks ago, i walked out of a library and looked to the west as it mysteriously glowed green. my sleepy little town was lit from below by some strange, ominous light.
my dear friend had told me that night, the Aurora Borealis would be visiting my home land of Colorado, and i was epically disappointed i would be missing it. i would be missing the ephemeral flashes of color, shirking humanity for one wondrous night.
looking to the west, i was sure my Aurora dreams had come true. i took my pup and drove to the top of a mountain to gaze at the source of this light, this glowing. i was not alone – dozens of others joined me atop this precipice to see that this omen of (good?) (bad?) fortune was indeed shining on from our massive, aesthetically unpleasing football stadium, which i would eventually learn was a jumbo-tron malfunction.
i texted a man, whom has occupied my thoughts. he called me a witch, and i took the compliment. i thought of the spell this light had cast on our town, if only for a fleeting night, and i found myself thankful. sometimes, what i not real supersedes what might be. if i were to have a false Aurora, or no Aurora, i choose faux.
i choose to see the beauty in things that are, and things that are not. i choose to daydream. i choose to imagine beautiful, amazing things which will never come to fruition, for they are powerful visions, taciturn, fraught with the most meaningful and meaningless powers of my mind. i implore them.
i fell asleep, to the green glow and i envied not those who saw the real show that night. ours, albeit faux, was brighter. the man in my dreams, the man who passionately runs his hands across my body at midnight, the man whose intensity radiates through my bones like static, he’s real in my thoughts; his contrivance in reality is too terrifying to bear. my heart breaks already.