You've abandoned a little girl in the darkness.
A girl who had dreams,
Or maybe only fantasies.
Maybe she knew deep down,
That it was too much to disappoint herself one more time.
But maybe the fact that she hoped at all,
Was what really mattered.
Sitting alone,
Her little figure draped in starlight,
That little girl wished for a better future.
Even if there wasn't a better a better future in sight.
Someone needed to believe.
 

I stand in an open field on a winter night.
Don't ask me how I got there,
As I continue to stand,
Cold and unsure.
I hug my jacket close to me,
At least I remembered to put it on.
Whenever I decided to come here.
I decide to start walking,
Except I don't know where to go.
Then it hits me.
This must be a dream.
All I have to do is...
The light in my bedroom snaps on.
"Time to get up." A voice calls.
If only I could remember what I had been dreaming about...
 

Always worried,
Always anxious,
Fingers drum on the surface of a black notebook.
A notebook that holds secrets,
A place to escape,
A place free of threats.
"I wish you weren't such a creep!"
The words come hard,
As a backpack is unzipped,
The black notebook finds its way into the sunlight.
Pencil scratching furiously on paper,
and willing the tears not to come.
Wishing that world could swallow you.
Or that you could fly, 
up into oblivion.
But no...
Always worried,
Always anxious,
Fingers drum on the surface of a black notebook.
A notebook that holds secrets,
A place to escape,
A place free of threats.

Words cut back and forth between them.
As sharp as a whip.
Like sparks dancing over a fire,
or like lightning imprisoned inside of a cloud.
Like shattering glass,
into silence...
The words stop coming.
"Is that really what you think!?"
No one can answer.
"Well, if it is then I'm leaving!"
Leaving where?
Leaving can be forever.
Just...
gone.
that doesn't stop people from feeling angry.
It makes whoever left,
feel alone.

Long delicate fingers dart across the black and white keys.
I like to watch,
The way they move seemingly effortlesly to carry out a melody.
There's an old man on the corner of our street.
I can always hear him playing the piano from an upstairs window,
So I sit on the sidewalk and listen.
Some of the neighbors don't like it,
They say his hands should be still for once,
But he doesn't stop.
He didn't stop.
Now when I go by his house it's empty.
I was the only one who stopped to listen,
who heard the long delicate fingers dart across the black and white keys.
I like to watch
To listen
When I hear the piano, I look towards his window.
But it's someone else.

 

Our Earth.
What we know of it now is reality.
What we want from it is something more for future generations.
We only try to stop global warming because we think we can make a difference.
We won't try if we don't see hope.
Hope is somehing to live for,
something to die for.
Don't say that no one is trying for a change.
It might not seem that way,
if you don't want to notice.
Notice that our world is hurting.
You might never know.
Dreamers can fix the unimagined.
But it's up to everyone else, too.
To at least try,
because right now,
it's all we can do.