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Black isn't white

Black isn't white


I've been dreaming lately.
Dreaming about cherry blossom gardens filled with fountains of fresh, clear water. The fish that swam there, were the colors of the sky during a sunset.
Sometimes I thought I could see them change their colors. Going from gold to pink, to orange, and back to gold.
But as my dreams became longer, like the nights in the winter, the garden began to turn dark. The fish slowly disappeared and the once so pretty pink blossom withered and fell down from the branches.
The green grass I always sat on whilst looking around me at all these miracles, turned yellow and then pink from the fallen blossom petals.
The trees became cold and dried out. The water turned darker and one day I got too scared to even swim.
And outside of my dreams, the days came back. The winter was over and spring was just around the corner. But in my dreams, the garden stayed all grey and dead. As the flowers began to grow and young life danced around everywhere, it felt like my dreams and reality had switched.
My once so pretty dreams had turned into nightmares and I'd rather stay awake than fall asleep.
But I know that black isn't white, and that white isn't pink and that all that once was will come back someday.
Someday.
But for now, I've got to keep looking for that dream to come true. So that when my dreams aren't my nightmares anymore I can finally fall asleep again.
Watch the same old familiar fish, change their colors again.
From black to white, to silver to gold.
From gold to pink, to orange and back to gold again.
Watch the cherry blossom bloom again, and see the old leaves drift on the fresh, clear water in the memory of this dream turning nightmare once.
For if needed, I can always go there. And it will always be beautiful.
Again.

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