I was a kid, who dreamed, and believed all too much. I was a sparkle, in the sun, waiting for the night. And I would stare. Stare into the world, imagining, what I could create. My eyes, like a knife cutting through the dust. I saw colors, in my dreams, and they told me, I was alive. What I saw, was real, and I could hear it breathing. They spoke words, telling me to chase after the world, and grab it, put it in my pocket, and run. I was just a kid, who dreamed and believed, all too much.

I was picked up and thrown. Thrown into a city. The noise was real, and moving. And the colors rose up, above me, for guidance. Leading me, street to street, and to the highest building. They told me, this was who I would be. And I was growing, becoming. I was no longer a kid, who dreamed, but a runner, who chased. I was to search for myself, beneath the crowds, of life. I stood tall, in a city, where nothing was impossible, and all was at the tip, of my very fingers. I strived. I strived, to feel it.

It was right in front me, every chance, I had ever dreamt. And I tried to hold in the screams, so I covered them with prayers. Every color, I had ever seen, there before me. The lights, all too much. Blurring my vision, but I never fell. Only stumbled in the dark. I had seen this before, while my eyes were shut, in the mist of night. And I knew my way out. The City, held my hand, as it flew me around, showing me, everything I had once imagined. Tightly I gripped, watching the world, and all its might. I learned, the world, color by color, and I fought for the pieces, I so desperately wanted to be a part of.

I grew, with the wind, right below me, pushing me higher and higher. Higher. The city lying beneath me. A dream at every corner, waiting to be captured, my fingers, always searching. I flew, all around, becoming, everything around me. All the good, and the bad, mixing inside me, and my emotions, whirling. Enjoying the ride, and the pain of faintness that came along. The world shaking me, and I was sitting at ease, taking it in. Filling my pocket, and waiting to run.

I went in, a little girl who never felt the real world. A girl who dreamt and believed all too much. I flew out. I flew with the world, in my pocket, throwing it piece by piece, all around me.