I daydream a lot.
I think about the worlds and places that we have yet to visit. How we might fly far and away, up past the moon, beyond our stars; a one-way trip to distant isles, and unexplored realms; unsolved probabilities, and untamed possibilities.
I close my eyes and breathe.
This past month I haven’t been reading much.
I’ve been too busy with different things – comedy, writing, work, running, volunteering. Things that I love, but things that take time.
On the metro in the mornings I wake my brain with crosswords.
I miss the feel of bound paper between my fingers.
At daybreak, my quiet commute, punctuated by the flipflipflip of pages, chapters, worlds.
At nightfall, crisp, cool sheets, and the sweet scent of sleep. My heavy eyelids and my frantic panic to read just one more (just one more) paragraph, before giving in to rest.
I miss this.
So tonight I will not daydream,
I will sit swaddled in blankets, surrounded by text, exploring a distant, but (not-so) long ago land.
And I will feel my fingers burn with envy. With passion. With zeal.
To write. Read. Believe.
I think Ray Bradbury said it right:
And so to all of you, goodnight.