I did it my way

That afternoon, I felt like I needed a breath of fresh air, a breath away from the sometimes, suffocating city. I departed in search of a patch of green, stranded among a sea of concrete. When I trespassed to the oasis, the softness of the grass on my soles and the cold whisper of the trees restored my vitality.

As I wandered through, I realized I was not alone in my tiny paradise, and when I figured out who my companion was, I froze at mid step.

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Wish Letters To My Future Self

During my childhood, I wrote letters asking to Santa or baby Jesus what I wished to receive for Christmas. And I diligently listed all those toys that would allow me to materialize my imagination, and grasp a pinch of my dreams: driving a race car, pilot a plane, travel through the entire space.

For many years I thought—like most of the children—that the toys were the most important thing I had back then, because they signify my dreams.

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Paper Birds

All mornings, bright birds show up at my window. Their jubilant canticles light up my room like sunbeams, displacing darkness back to its recondite corners. All the habitants of my dreams recluse themselves in the oniric reflection of my vivid reality.

My eyes adjust to the light, while my logic mind still battles to discern if my nightmares were just a product of my imagination. If people had truly visited me last night. If the events I witnessed were indeed an omen of the future. And if the fears embodied in beasts haunting me, were, in fact, real.

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