I want to be Maria Callas. Stand on a wide open empty stage and fill it entirely with my voice so loud and deep that it goes under the audience’s skin and makes them quiver. I want the music that rises from my raw vocal cords to bring the fragile souls some strength and the angry ones on their knees. I want to be an unwavering song.
I wish I could be the Eiffel Tour. A majestic symbol of romance, a witness to so many first kisses all under the same sky. A piece of art timeless and limitless that people in love swear by. A home to the pigeons of les toits de Paris.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful If I were a little girl’s doll. Forever joyful and comforting. I’d fall asleep in her arms every night not worried to be left behind. Knowing that when one day, my little princess would grow out of me, I would be kept a loving secret in her heart until her daughter’s big blue eyes see the world.
Oh, how I wish I were Jane Austen. Creating worlds of innate passion that arouse from words and letters. I’d draw a masterpiece of phrases that would resurrect with each passionate special two. I’d describe a smile to be so enticing, that just reading about it in my pages would make a flow of trembling jolts come over you.
What if I were a little café in Venice. A secret meeting place for lovers on a distant holiday. I’d cradle the last goodbye of the English innocent girl and the Australian scared boy. I’d hold the hands of the elderly, ever so in love, wife and husband that came to celebrate their 63rd anniversary. I’d smile for every new love sprung to life and cry with heartaches.