He started a diary. In his backyard he wrote about the silence and the breeze. He built an escape from realities such as the reality of his very own miserable being. Due to the sudden loss of his job and motivation, he could no longer afford the rent and since he was unloved, there was nothing left for him, just a senseless dream.

He wrote and traveled, searching for something new, yet he was fond of the old things, like the abandoned farm, that he claimed as his own backyard.

During the cold months he wished he could get away, sometimes his wishes were so real, he could feel the weather change, as if traveling afar while in the same state.

Of course, he thought it to be strange, but it went unquestioned. Only within those hills did he ever feel that kind of magic.

On certain afternoons, he would stare completely blank at the miles stretched around him with his arms folded and a frown that even gravity couldn’t hold down for so long. He could do something. But really, nothing lasts. Through his gaze he could see his lover from his past.

With this a single tear fell and he wiped it away with his sleeve; but the vision of her remained. She went along with the life he failed to achieve as a young man. He would often confess he was tired and unwilling. But unlike her own achievements, she failed to understand.

For once in his life he belonged somewhere.

One late evening, away in the distance a girl taunted his dreams. She was bright and beautiful, dancing in the moonlight in a white dress. Fantasies vastly stirred as he felt more alone than he had ever felt before. He would watch for hours, without her even knowing, but occasionally she would look in the right direction.

Even from so far away, often she would make him smile back, for her sentiment was contagious. And when he noticed she was sad, he imagined taking her away from all of it.

The magic would disappear in just two minutes, but when he did lock himself away in thoughts so real, he was in a place beyond time and truth. He arrived in the moments of his own dream. He would challenge himself, holding on to such a short period of time. Sometimes he would appear in the months of summer, the fall, carrying himself miles further from where he stood.

Among those days afar, people would age and become young again.

He laughed and cried at the mystery. It was something the world would marvel at, but he chose for it to remain a secret. The world got a kick out of laughing back at him in times exceptionally meaningful to him.

To be continued.