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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Personal · #2113648
Short entry into the diary, about the last of winter.
Feb 28
Lost the count of the foggy days. Whiteness covers everything swiping colors and emotions from the city. Walking cautiously towards the car, minding each step not to fall on the thick layer of ice that still covers the ground before the house, I can't make out anything within 3 meters. My mind starts wondering if it is the fog or did my sight suddenly get worse over the night. Just a day left till it's officially Spring, and one starts wondering if spring is an elusive concept that only applies to the calendar, just a word written in the dictionary.
Once again I get the feeling that I'm supposed to be somewhere else, doing something else.
I spotted the taxi near the archway. The dirt covered sedan, that had once probably been white had almost blurred with the fog and the dirty street.
I opened the door and got in.
I dream of the beach. I dream of blue sky. I dream of warmth, slowly burning on my skin.
I dream of lying on the beach, bare skin on hot blonde sand, digging my toes in the sand. Feeling the salty breeze on my skin. Listening to the waves, and just doing nothing.
The car slowly binds towards the office, a small dirt covered spot among many that indifferently pull up at the office gates. I get out and slide the badge at the entrance code. One last day to survive in the fog. Just another day.



Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly
and the dreams that you dream of dreams really do come true ...

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