Dark Utopia

  I want a ticket to Utopia. I am not waiting for winning it from a lottery. I am not adding it to my bucket list, either. My Utopia doesn't exist in Hawaii. It doesn't exist  in those beautiful islands in the middle of the ocean. It exists in a dark place. Lonely. Its bottom belongs to mother Earth, its top is a whole other planet. I don't want my eyes to roll on the ground to have a look on grass, trees and sand -with all due love to that view. But, I want my eyes to fly. I want it to sway in space, against gravity. I want my soul to drift away with that thin thread magnetized to me, and I keep playing with it like a marionette.

  My Utopia wouldn't be sunny greenish land. It's dark. It's on the top of a mountain, surrounded by dark clouds. I'd stand on the peak. I'd scream, not like a scared girl, but like an angry riot. I'd smile to myself. I'd tear out of happiness I'd feel, because of that freedom I'd touch through the blowing wind. My tears would freeze. My nose would produce warmth all over my face as it gets reddish. I'd laugh out of the madness of this mixture of feelings. I'd shout out all the sorrowful memories. No more whispers. I'd sit and let my eyes jump off this cliff and sink in the beauty of the scene. The green landscape, the sparkling water, the neighboring icy caps of the high mountains, the rocky floor beneath me and the distant sandy spots. Then I'd lift my eyes up high to see how close I am to the sky. The heavy clouds, the sun which keeps visiting from a minute to another and the moon which is too shy to shine in the morning and hard to be its accompany in the presence of these blocking clouds.

  Actually, I don't think my urge to abuse this moment of sweet loneliness would let me sit for long. I would stand and let the wind dive into my hair, tickle my frozen lashes, and try hopelessly to dig into my thick clothes. The voices would sing lullabies to me. Some of them would reply to my worries. Some of them would laugh along with me. Some of them would bring funny moments I had on that planet Earth one day. Some of them would ring the bells on my heart and crave into it the names of people missed, to give them a visit as soon as I'm off this Utopia. Some of them will wash my brain and alert it that life can't be about Utopia. Life can't be comforting. If life would be pure, with no worries, no pain, no madness, so what would heaven be like?

  My dark Utopia isn't sad. It isn't pathetic. It isn't an emo land. My dark Utopia is the thoughts you and I are buried in. If we envisioned them as a place, it would be entertaining. If we kept envisioning it as a knife stuck in our backs, the pain will never end; you'd be like a soul belongs to a dead body which couldn't see the light to settle in its home.

  Utopia doesn't have to be magical. It can be your drawings, your piece of writing or your cover for your favorite song. Utopia can be the invisible angel on your shoulder. It can be anywhere. You create it, you find it.