Dream Petals

1. Cotton candy dreams

Elizabeth had more dreams than all the stars in the sky put together.

In her never ending list of dreams three were the ones she’d chase after with clenched teeth and a gentle heart.

Her first dream was NYC. The city of dreams, lights, and taxi drives. A place that was quite fitting for her dreamy personality.

Her second dream was what had kept her up at night in her twenty one years of life, what had fueled her imagination and created entire worlds that were now long forgotten. Elizabeth dreamed of being a professional storyteller.

Partially, she had already translated this dream into reality, but the biggest step was yet to be walked.

Her third dream, was so impossible she wouldn’t even dare speak of it. She was afraid of this dream, it was a creature of shadows crawling inside her joyful heart. It was something she still wasn’t ready for, but something she would never stop fighting for.

The day that her third, ineffable dream spilled into reality was a fine day in the middle of december. Snowflakes were dancing in the winter breeze, some of them playful enough to caress people cheeks right before disappearing. Elizabeth was walking straight into her first dream: impossible and dangerous skyscrapers stretched as far as her eyes could see. They were the perfect winter palette of browns and grays and lights. In the night one could easily mistake them for gigantic Christmas trees. She was in NYC. One year before, she had moved from the littlest town of north Italy into the Biggest town of north America. It took her years of asking, years of convincing to finally have her mother say yes. And now she was here, surrounded by magic and infinite possibilities. Surrounded by snow, and skyscrapers and people. She loved people and often found herself lost in observing the colorful lives of other human beings. Once she even went as far as following a woman to her house just because the conversation she was having at the phone was particularly interesting.

“It’s real,” Elizabeth whispered. Sometimes she had to remind herself living in NYC was more than just a dream, it all seemed so vivid it was hard to believe its truth.

A street musician was playing a Christmas melody on his guitar and Elizabeth lulled at the rhythm of the music. Christmas had always been her favorite time of the year and since this was her first Christmas in NYC, it was ten times more magical. She tipped a coin into the cap of the musician. He thanked her and with a confidence that was foreign to her, she smiled and bowed her head. Christmas, with the sense of kindness and respect it infused on people, had the special power of restoring her heart.

Carrying the melody in her heart she walked home. Home.

“This is real,” she thought loudly.

When she had moved in this past April, she had bought a little apartment in Brooklyn she shared with her best friend, Jess. It was barely big enough for two people to live in, but it was theirs, and that was all that mattered. Their little sliver of NYC.

She wasn’t far from the musician when she heard a voice say something that sounded a lot like “Hey girl!”.

How many stories could star from a simple sentence like “Hey, girl”? A love story about a girl and her childhood friend meeting for the first time after years. A story about a hero with a special mission. A story about a tourist who was experiencing a different culture. A story about time travel and poorly dressed visitors. As soon as she realised she’d, once again, been brainstorming story ideas, she scowled and continued walking towards her home, holding some notebooks close to her chest.

Her day had been tiring, but she found it satisfying to be tired for doing what she loved. Elizabeth worked at a little bookshop two blocks away from her apartment and even though it wasn’t exactly her dream job, being surrounded by books all day long she considered a blessing. Also, the bookshop was rarely crowded and in those quiet moments she would pop her laptop open and would start writing. Writing was what she loved the most, was it a simple scribble on a flying paper or a fifty thousand words document, she would write her heart out and make it the best that she could.