My arms flit through the air, as if I no longer control them.
The tips of my fingers languidly, yet gracefully dance above me.
In a cursive flow they outline, "WHY?".
I gaze at it, I can see the strength of the word written in merely air.
Leisurely I reach for it, grasping ever so gently at the intangible.
Slowly, and to my dismay, I realize, "Why?" will never be that of a tangible form.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
My arms flit through the air, as if I no longer control them.
The tips of my fingers languidly, yet gracefully dance above me.
In a cursive flow they outline, "WHY?".
I gaze at it, I can see the strength of the word written in merely air.
Leisurely I reach for it, grasping ever so gently at the intangible.
Slowly, and to my dismay, I realize, "Why?" will never be that of a tangible form.
A pointless question, "Why?" is.
