Listen to the rain fall,
and, carefully,
unwrap the words that
sit in the air like
raindrops frozen in time,
move slowly,
move slowly into this,
there is no rush
greater than what can come
and, already,
what is.
The sparks of the worlds
in the words shared
ignite
the neurons
fire,
but slowly,
the lightening of the night sky,
and hours late
turns the mind aflame
with just a few
special
moments.
The thunderous clap of a
sharp wit and the ocean
blue that pours from
the sky
and into the
different subjects as
it is time, again,
to grow.
Upon re-reading this, I see that it seems to revolve around a topic that was only in the back of my mind when writing. I was actually writing about something else (it's up to you to figure out what) and only intended to interweave the (seemingly) primary subject intermittently, but that's not how it turned out. I suppose that's how it happens sometimes. In any case, thank you for reading!