my mind is a painter, thinking of colors in the form of stories and scenes
thinking about the brightest of city lights  
streets teeming with foreign language
people passing by with stories i'll never know
silent seas along the coastlines
mountains towering above us, old and wise
cabins in the forest with little firesides  
trains full of strangers to fall in love with
airports with people, greetings and goodbyes
postcard-perfect towns and friendly rivers
neighborhoods showered with pretty autumn leaves...

these are the stories painted in my head, the stories i'd love to paint with my own hands.
the places i'd love to see when i'm alone in my bedroom, the stories i want to see for myself.
and sometimes, i fear i'll never reach these works of art,
but with a brush and some paint, what's impossible?