The Dreamer

She is gazing up at us again, admiring our formations with wonder. Most don’t look up anymore. They look forward at glowing screens or down at paperwork, signing their dreams away. But she looks up.

We are nothing special. Merely water in the sky. But she sees us as so much more. It matters not if people look at us, the sunset, or the astral tapestry of stars and planets. It only matters that they look up.

Dreamers look up. They look up because the sky is in their reach. Most of the world looks forward or down because the sky is simply too far off. It does not pertain to their world. Looking at shapes in us does not help one pay their taxes nor get a promotion. But it does help them dream.

She comes every day to the same hill. Sometimes she wears a grin, other times a frown. Though when she is finished gazing, she leaves the hill each time without fail with a smile. Even us simple clouds can bring joy to dreamers, she makes the sky feel wondrous again. She makes us feel wonderous again.

She sometimes shares her freedom and joy from the clouds to others. Taking her friends up to the hill to watch the clouds with her. We are made blissful from their smiles and laughs of joy as they look up and find shapes in the clouds.

We know they won’t last. They will come for a short while to enjoy the clouds with her, be amused by our shapes, and then find something else to amuse them. Still, she comes, and that is enough.

Though as she grows older there is a change. We see life begin to take its toll, the time and freedom of youth begin to subside. She no longer comes every day, but we still cherish her every visit. We cherish her company and her smile.

While the moments she shares with us are fewer, they are all the more precious. She comes to the hill more exhausted each time but leaves with a smile, with some of the burden removed from her resilient shoulders.

We wish we could do more for our dreamer. More than simply being a reminder for her that there is a world out there she can reach. She has been forgetting that more, that dream seemingly farther away.

Now her visits are tinged with sorrow. Her eyes grow damp as she gazes upward. She no longer brings friends with her to visit the hill. The intervals between each visit shorter, her smile a little dimmer.

Dreams can be bittersweet things. We used to inspire her to reach up, for we aren’t far away. Though now we are distant, she sees us as smaller. As if her dreams are slipping out of reach. But we haven’t left, trying desperately to remind her that we’re still in reach. But still, she weeps. We miss her smile.

Days pass, weeks pass, months pass. We miss her visits. Our dreamer has stumbled on her path. She’ll make her way back to us, to the clouds, her dreams. She always does. Perhaps then she’ll find her way and smile once more.

The days seem longer without her visits. We drift aimlessly through the sky, unable to see what the dreamer sees in us without her gaze. Perhaps the clouds look like books or shields, but we cannot tell. Muses cannot produce art, only inspire it.

Come back to us, dreamer.

Finally, she returns. She stares at the sky for a long time. Often it is minutes, rarely beyond an hour. But today, she stares for hours. She sighs, all of that pressure that has built up upon her releases. She watches us, and for a moment, we don’t feel that distant from her anymore. For a moment, she reaches up. Perhaps this time she will reach us, perhaps this time she will reach her dream. No, she puts down her hand. But she is smiling again. Thank you for returning, for dreaming, for smiling, dreamer.

She has begun visiting us more often. We are grateful for her visits, but they are different than before. We see conflict in her eyes. She wants to reach out, but can’t. So she simply stares. Stares for seconds, minutes, hours.

Sometimes when she comes, she weeps. Other times, she smiles. But every time, she stares. She yearns for her dream, and we wish we could give it. Perhaps we seconds, minutes, hours. Reading up before turning to the ground once more. 

Reach up, dreamer! 

Reach up! 

We are in her reach! 

But water can do little more than exist. We can not ease her suffering.

Sometimes when she visits, she cries. Other times, she smiles. But every time she visits, she stares. She yearns for her dream, reaching out each time. Never quite reaching. Rain falls from us. We weep for her.

She comes to us in our mourning, torrents of rain falling below. It does not phase her. Others rush inside, rain will get their devices and papers wet, but she is unphased. Dreamers love the rain. She basks in it, feeling the sprinkles on her face, tasting the cool droplets with her tongue, feeling the rain gently tickling her skin.

She looks up, though we are but gloomy, grey things, she looks up. She does not see gloom, but the tiny ray of light which pierces through us as we lighten and part, letting the sun back in.

She gazes up. Slowly, with a tentative hand and determined eyes, she reaches out. Further and further she reaches. Reaching higher, straining for the clouds. She has finally chosen to reach her dreams.

She comes back often now. Gazing up. There is now resolve in the dreamer’s eyes. She no longer comes to us for escape, or for hope. She comes to us for gratefulness. Each time she returns, we hope to offer wondrous shapes and fluffy skies to return the favor. Though we can do little else but exist, she leaves each time with a smile. 

And that is enough.