A Story by bourgeois hippy

Taken from Facebook. Needed to write something.


The new day brought fresh, foreign light to my tanned skin as I stepped outside for a moment, but however bright it may have been, it was tinted with envy seen solely through my future lover’s eyes, as mystic emotions silhouetted the relentless cityscape and skyscraping traffic, molesting the peace of the contented homeless.

I saw this new day’s light embracing the accomplished hopes and dreams of the unknowing poor everyman, never to feel enchanted on account of his eternal evasion of mystery and enlightenment, forever trapped under the pollution of his repetitive day that seems to shine in the same manner every so many hours, after every so many drinks and nights of wondering what will come at the age when he’ll be unable to accomplish what he once read about in fairy tales, imagining himself to sleep.

I saw this day’s light on my skin, felt the heat on my forehead, heard the roar of the steel river, smelled the city’s nature, tasted the tar growing on my tongue, and I endeavored to resist the urge to wipe away the first drop of sweat caused by this intense new, aberrant heat. As I sensed the dread building up in my stomach, I realized I was graced to realize what we read about by the greatest writers, drunks, philosophers, and political prisoners of our race’s time. The day suddenly darkened, and a twilight engulfed the skyline as the sun dissolved into snow falling along the horizon, and my whole life disappeared from under my feet as I found myself somewhere I’d never seen before.

Everything was dark, yet there were a few lights I could see at different depths of field that didn’t seem to exist to anything but what I was looking at. I didn’t walk towards these few lights, but I arrived. While I couldn’t make out what the lights were illuminating, I felt an overwhelming hurricane of happiness, a torrent of tenacity, a flood of love siege and penetrate my blood, and I immediately understood where I’d found myself: in myself. I was staring at my passion, my love, my idea, my moi. I arrived at another light, and this one was dimmer. I absorbed the emotional emissions and I knew I had work still to accomplish with this one.

I wandered for what could have been hours, if time truly exists inside yourself. I was but a sponge in the presence of such power, lost to rational emotion and romantic instinct, introducing myself to what I know one can’t help but hide for so long.

At some point I found myself back in the world, being touched by the light of the new day once again. I took a deep breath, and realized that while I preferred the lights inside my dark cave of the mystery of myself, this light was what I would have to live under as I found opportunities to illuminate my own.

So I took another deep breath, walked inside, and closed the blinds.

© 2009 bourgeois hippy

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Sad reality but does it have to be? I think you could live under whichever light you choose. Of course, the second one you described seems to be easier .. maybe less bright. I prefer the first.

Posted 11 Years Ago

Wow! You are a very wonderful writer. I enjoyed this. It is very descriptive. Really kind of sad in ways as well. I like the emotion put into it.

Posted 11 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on July 31, 2009
Last Updated on July 31, 2009


bourgeois hippy
bourgeois hippy

Hollywood, CA

It's hard for me to spit out words in an effort to create thought for myself to read later. Sometimes these thoughts are so hard to rationalize that I often wonder if they're anything but the dreams t.. more..