I feel the night flowing into my veins. Before the sun sets to raise again as a new journey begins, I feel its descent into my blood. The slowing of the rhythm, the dreams that are appearing out of nowhere. As the light changes to golden, my mind gets stuck into a rhythm of its own. Out of nothing, memories flood my soul.
Days from long ago are alive again for a split second. Sometime, long, long ago, it was summer in the mountains. With a book in my hands, I was lying on the grass, my eyes lost in the movement of clouds. But there were no clouds I was seeing. In front of my eyes tiny atoms were dancing in the air until I was lost in their movement and color. I could feel life pulsing in my veins, summer playing in my soul while my eyes were lost in a world no one else could see. And as the sun dissolves into the night, a long forgotten memory comes without a calling. It was another summer, even longer ago, when lost in the freedom of being a child, I would sit in the grass. I could see then the particles of light, the energy flowing. But no one else could and all thought I had imagined.
Before the first stars come to life, I feel them rising. And yet, the stories of this stars are unknown to me. In another world, a long ago, I would learn the stories of other stars, stories lost in legend and times without time. As this stars are foreign to me, I can make up my own stories as I get lost in their beauty.
And memories come again, of nights long lost, when I learned to recognize the first constellations. I would watch the sky, long and deep without a thought and my grandmother would come, showing me the way the stars were connected and telling me stories I could find in no books. Stories that lived with my people from age to age and millennium to millennium. Stories that no one else knows, from the mother that lost her children and was reunited with them by becoming a hen, to the carriage that carries the souls of my ancestors.
And now, like then, in the quiet of the night, when no one is awake, I can run to the stars ad get lost between them. With falling ones I dream and weave my wishes, now and then, dreaming of a better day, a better world.
And other memories come, of a rainy day long ago, when young enough and full of dreams I told my friend I wish to change the world in a better place for all. And, without my dreams, without my innocence, my friend replied that as I will wish to change the world, the world will be changing me. I argued then that if we would all be dreaming, nothing would be impossible.
And today, as I dance on the stars of long forgotten dreams, I can still catch a glimpse of the girl I was. And I know that magic is still alive in my heart, that my dreams of a better, healthier world in which we would know love, not hate, are still very much awake, very much present. And other times, between the stars, I find tiny pieces of the choices I did not make, of the roads I did not fallow. As my soul belongs to the starts it is lost in, I can see those roads and their own magic, but the calling is not there anymore, and I can touch them with no regret, just with the gentle memory of those dreams that could be brought back to life again. Other times, I can meet the dreams I gave up not, just hid out of sight. And those dreams are waiting, waiting for my courage, for my faith, but it is not their time yet.
And yet, other times, between the stars I see not the what was, but the what will be, the shining mirrors of possibilities and dreams non existing yet. I can feel their touch, even though I can not hold them.
Willingly over and over again, I get lost between the stars, with trust and love, knowing my road back.