Dreams Would be Soft

If I could I would sculpt yesterday into a little statue, so that I could look at it whenever I want and be reminded that life can be peaceful, and that things are simpler than they seem. I would hold the tiny forever in my palm, and be able to feel its beating heart.

If yesterday were a painting, it would be the black silhouette of a tree painted in charcoal against a silky blue watercolor background. The tree would be a pine, and its leaves would be distinguishable, though they be needle-point sharp. The sky would loom over, far and reaching, outside the canvass.

If yesterday were a song, it would begin with a single note, a "c" perhaps, then roll into slow guitar chord strums. The rhythmic rocking would slowly fade into the night, until all that's left would be the gurgling of a nearby creek.

Dreams would be soft, like cotton balls.