Anna reposed languorously as her mum curled her up in her arms. Zephyrs from the fluttering balcony just in front of her cluttered bed made her snuff-colored-and-goofed up hair waft. As she had her slender fingers entangled in her mum’s bare and beautiful fingers, she caught a glimpse of a crisp orange light squinting in her eyes as she stretched out at the very corner of her bed, chisel in the tenebrosity of their room. She smoothly rested her arm on her mum’s chest, feeling her heart beat. Anna blabbered and blathered her soul out. Her eyes scintillated with gaiety as she prattled about how she wants to study research and development at a top-notch university and then end up teaching there.
As Anna felt vehemently vitalized, all the tiny little too much fragments of her little too big dreams kindled in her soul, igniting all the zillion atoms of hope, magic and dream which stifled inside her pretty little mind.
Anna told her mum how she wanted to usher in her own little school for toddlers. The shot of her school gyrates around not filtering the creativity of little kids. It will have whopping class rooms, magical music system, glowing stars, balloons and cushy cushions so that as the little ones wriggle into the class, they get remarkably disconnected by the external unpropitious forces and set foot into a magical world. She told her mum how the walls will be white so that the children could paint and color their heart out.
As her mum reveled giving attention to her dreams and ambitions, Anna with her resplendent eyes reeled off that she dreams about a great big library like that of Beauty, establishing her own label and one of its collections will be named ‘Black Beauty’ and ramp-walk with a black panther.
Anna’s proclivity to teach her little brother when she was young and her love of reading and fashion changed into a dream of establishing her own school, owning a big library and a ramp-walk with a black panther.
She nodded off for a respite from overrated thoughts, sheep and elements that crush her creative germs, wondering how people can grow up to be so prosaic.
What makes your life beautiful is not having all your dreams come true, it’s about having that one person who genuinely listens to your dreams without cachinnating at them, believes in you like children believe in tooth fairies, gives you the grit to hunt them down, ignite that flame within you, find that long-lost spark of your eyes to reach that dream. It’s the person who feels your pain when your eyes are squirted with a lemon on your way to that star and who tells you not to follow the crowd for you might get lost in it. Dreams are important. However, most important is the person you dream with.
