Mystery creates wonder, and wonder is the basis of humankind’s desire to understand. I could take a picture of what I’m seeing on this beautiful evening, but I don’t have a NatGeo-type camera (aww). So, as always, I try my best to sketch it 😎 — the mystery that is the sky up above us….
Walls. Sometimes, by locking everyone out, you get locked in. Walls so high it’s hard to breathe. Can’t be brought down that easily. It will require an army — or maybe simply the undoing of the wrong-doing by those who made them go up.
“Maybe it’s all part of a plan” … a plan that is also a mystery to all. Peace and…love, y’all!
When bedtime comes and you’re dead tired, but you still wish the night was young, and you sit in bed, like, WTF? Where did the day go?
Her nights are blue, but not just any blue; it is the darkest of all hues. By her bedside she keeps her booze, drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse. Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too, if you walked a mile in her shoes.
If I had more alone time, I’d have more time to create more terrible doodles, to write more stories, more poetry, such as this short story; the story of how I’m unable to tell more stories. So, you see, solitude isn’t all that bad — and learning how to prioritize doesn’t hurt either.
You’re like a catchy, old tune; I think I need another hook.
La multitud te aclama: ¡Otra! ¡Otra! Y te quedas ahÃ, absorbiendo todo. Las miradas. El cariño. Los aplausos—hasta aquellos que aplauden solamente por pura borrachera. Eres dueña del momento. The crowd goes wild: One more! One more! And you just stand there, taking it all in (the moment). The gaze. The affection. The applause—even those…