There are many ways to say what you want. You are waiting for the correct words to form, to blossom as buds do and give birth to splendour.
A whimsical ethereal story, of the magic that cannot be understood by all. The painfully slow process of making words live.
Try as I might, I can’t sleep right now. I came home so worn; but I think I’ve repaired to listen to the dishwasher hum.
And to hear the flame that burns eternal at the plants in the distance; the sound the outside makes, when wind wallops window pane.
If that doesn’t lull you to sleep, the cars racing by will; and the tiny ones stuck in their cribs will not sleep and they can relate.
What it is to be wide awake and not know how to say: I need to be entertained now; you in your own house know how to make time shift.
You know what moments are like as you fall to the dreams; the sandman comes whisking you into a nightmare, behold.
And the moon in the sky, an orb of glass above, paints the starry sky in pinks, greens, yellow, orange, and blue. Light fills the abyss of the night.
Standing below a painting gifted by nature, you stare and you wonder. What words will satisfy to describe a blend of paint on the largest canvas. Can my words do justice to a haven in the sky?
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