Dreaming away.

Hopes are built in the quietness of the dawn, under unstained dark skies, in between conversations of what there is to love in life. Dreams are drawn in the light of the morning after, in a blanket of orange, in the same stillness of everything but the own self.

Because everything that you are, it's somewhere else. It's on a track. What part of the face exposed what with the head gear burns with the slightest touch of high-speed wind. Gravity pulls the right leg, which in turn pushes with no fear but to go slow. Rubber shrieks in every sharp curb. Under the hot summer sun, everything is bound to explode. Even you chest pounds, as if heat reaches your veins too. The rush is unbelievable, and you perfectly like it.

And then you slow down your pace, you shift it to two pairs of smaller tires, if you can even call them that. The pavement is just as perfect, just as smooth to suit your glides but scratch your elbow. You take a flight in a few seconds, jump on what will make you reach lower ground in less time, without thinking, without the haunting of broken bones. And as you fall through some slope you forget that you can even think twice, that you have a choice to chicken out. And you don't mind the knots in your stomach so you won't miss out on the freedom you have.

And you can take everything super slowly, as slow as your feet. Wandering, but not lost, the busy streets of where you've always wanted to be, of where you've built your goals on. Finally, you see the wall scribble you read about. You take a picture of it, right in between two girls in stilettos, pretty coats and a rush, just like everybody else. Time is bought here, you understand. But you know what things do not carry a tag, which you have and treasure and know. When you go home and look out to this city the sea keeps from growing, you know you have gone farther than what you used to say is already far. And you know Who to thank.

Hope colors the pictures. Faith will bring them to life. :)