Isn't it odd how so much can change with just one breath. One blow of the wind; and everything seems to crumble.
Isn't it funny how you don't even realize how many pages are left, yet when you turn the page; the chapter just seems to end.
Most of the time, it ends mid-sentence. Abrupt and inconclusive; almost as if the last pages were ripped out, or as if the author forgot to etch in the remaining chapters; the final words.
Isn't it odd how one day the sun is shining so bright that you can't even fathom the mere thought of a cloud in the sky, but when you arise the next morning, you wake to rain falling in a steady pattern;
drumming it's fingers agains your window.
Isn't it funny how you always remember the beginning, yet always seem to forget uttering the unfamiliar goodbye;
How you can't even seem to remember the words forming against your lips?
What's an ending or a goodbye when you can't even remember to cry?
Days later, looking back, you wander into a perpetual state of wonder.
The thought always rising to your mind.
Funny how change blows in with the turn of a season. It seems to blow into town, carried with the wind; it seems to push your hair back, and whisper in your ear;
It wishes you were here...
I wander to wonder, and I wonder to wander these things, turning them in my mind.
& as the leaves changed, so did I.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
Isn't it odd how so much can change with just one breath. One blow of the wind; and everything seems to crumble.
Isn't it funny how you don't even realize how many pages are left, yet when you turn the page; the chapter just seems to end.
Most of the time, it ends mid-sentence. Abrupt and inconclusive; almost as if the last pages were ripped out, or as if the author forgot to etch in the remaining chapters; the final words.
Isn't it odd how one day the sun is shining so bright that you can't even fathom the mere thought of a cloud in the sky, but when you arise the next morning, you wake to rain falling in a steady pattern;
drumming it's fingers agains your window.
Isn't it funny how you always remember the beginning, yet always seem to forget uttering the unfamiliar goodbye;
How you can't even seem to remember the words forming against your lips?
What's an ending or a goodbye when you can't even remember to cry?
Days later, looking back, you wander into a perpetual state of wonder.
The thought always rising to your mind.
Funny how change blows in with the turn of a season. It seems to blow into town, carried with the wind; it seems to push your hair back, and whisper in your ear;
It wishes you were here...
I wander to wonder, and I wonder to wander these things, turning them in my mind.
& as the leaves changed, so did I.