Confiscated Dreams

by The Cowl Editor on September 26, 2019


The stars lighting up the bright blue and purple night sky
Photo courtesy of

by Jessica Polanco ’20

Laying down and looking at the stars. This was all they dreamt about. The feeling of the prickly grass on the back of their heads and chatting about their dreams. They created plans that night about how to bring all of their ideas into fruition. They traced the sky with the blueprint of their dreams, how it will begin, and how they dreamt it’ll end. And they smiled and giggled through it all. At one moment they traced each other’s faces, while staring into each other’s eyes. They didn’t want the moment to absorb all of their love so it didn’t last that long. No one could match the frequency felt between their hearts that night, not even the stars above them. They missed each other, terribly. Two and a half years of talking through a glass, begging to be touched by one another. They couldn’t hold on to each other and so they held on to the hope that drew the line in front of them. After two and a half years, they ended up here. In the biggest park in their city, they begged whoever was above them to not confiscate the night because the morning promised pain. The morning hadn’t come yet but it was already dressed like a thief, ready to take him away like he didn’t belong to what God had promised him, which was life.

The next morning, they found each other, at the steps of a dark prison. The building was probably built by innocent souls who had no intentions of swallowing the innocence of a soul. But here they were, kissing each other goodbye. Promising each other it’ll end soon. Ignoring the fact that it was only true in the next life time.