the wild written pages ii

The Wild Typewritten Pages 2

I should be taking my shower, I should be getting into my PJs, I should be brushing my hair, I should be eating dinner and reading. But I’m not. Because as much as I like traditions and routines, I think it is quite nice to be spontaneous. So here I am, outside watching the sunset, whilst reading “The Secret of Peaches”, a sequel that doesn’t act as if it is part of a series. A proud, well-written book. Just like the book I wouldn’t mind writing some day. The moon is bright, and I have hardly enough light to read, now and then Papa gently taps on the window with a raise of an eyebrow ‘Do you want them on?’ I shake my head with a smile; no I want to read by moonlight. It is almost as romantic as it sounds. After reading a couple or pages or so, I would look up to the wide blue expanse we call the Sky. Something so majestic, you instantly know that it is written with a capital. This sky is wise and deep and looks like a dark blue tapestry interwoven with shimmering lights. When I was younger I would get so excited seeing the first star, but then I would be told that it was a plane, just a simple manmade plane. Nothing like the bright dots I loved so much scattered on the tapestry on a cloudless night. Never will I tell a child that a star is actually a plane. Never will I crush a child’s dreams.