L9, Part 1

As I enter the fantasy, I feel the sky-blue sparks dashing around my body, carefully zapping at my nerves as if they are checking if they all still function. Senses soon come back to life, and I realize that I must be dreaming or I have lost myself in a pastel-tone madness. It is all… unreal, too distant from what everything should feel like. The mineral scent of emerald green fills my nostrils, too much like that of a crayon. My skin feels the gentle breeze of an electric spring, or perhaps the soft breath of a heartfelt statistics sheet about a distant fairy land. With the wind, the taste of simple satisfaction smothered with rationalized hope crawls up my tongue, so cloyingly sweet. I lift my eyelids, and the piercing spikes of custard-yellow sunlight shatter through the spotless sky and emblazen themselves on my optical receptors. First, my attention is stolen to the sun in the sky that explodes in its white brightness, but I soon lower my eyes to the green ocean of trees, tiding loudly along the wind. Their leaves are so young and unscarred, they appear almost transparent to me. With their tides and bristles, they sing a calculated chorus to my ears, talking about joyful secrets that my mind is yet too tired to comprehend.

Gazing at the coordinated choreography of this emerald forest, danced with a thousand crystal woods and a storm of programmed butterflies, I breathe in the arcadia that was hidden deeply within my own heart and accept it.

This is what I feel.