Perfect Dream

How about a day when the sky is filled with white clouds, the sun is shining just perfectly and we are at a fortress all by ourselves. Perfect.

The wind orchestrates the music and you lead me to dance. We sway to the rustling of the leaves and laugh at the peacock who is unable to lure the peahen with his beautiful feathers. Perfect.

With our feet dangling down from the huge walls of the fortress, we see the sun set and the stars starting to twinkle with a half waning moon. Perfect.

The perfect is a dream. A dream with no chances of turning into a reality. Probably because perfect only happens in dreams.

so much of creative writing. damn.

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