I envy those who can string together words to create tapestries that move you, make you feel. How I long to write something that flows from within, like the life force that makes sure I am alive. I don't want to move you like the waves of an ocean crashing into a surfer, But that which gushes in between your toes, wetting them, leaving them cold and sandy and takes back with it a bit of the earth beneath your feet. Is it too much to ask ? That you read my words and remember the victories you had facing imagined conquests with your playmates That you remember your mother's cooking which was simple, filled your stomach and sustained your soul. That you remember how you felt when you saw the one you loved, like something moved in the pit of your stomach. Is it too much to ask that you live my words just for that moment? That you remember the bitterness in your past, be grateful for the good times and maybe, just maybe wonder what could be, if not this?
The contents here are usually a results of purgation, confusion, excitation or ingestion