There is an innocence about it
A sensation which slightly glows
And illuminates, the half of it
But does not act out of cluelessness
Or carelessness
No, it's a state of care free thoughtfulness
In which this kind of being exists
It hates the plow
It hates the system
It simply is
It simply lives
It connects itself to many things
And many people
With a genuine and expressive tone
And an innate sweetness inside of it
And when this sensation sleeps
The small corners of the world as they are
In one way or another
Are at peace
And when I am near
It is the same as when I am not
Behaving with steadfastness
And as it listens quietly
It puts me at ease
As I see it now, for what it is, in its innocence
And when given the opportunity to speak
I care for it
And yet, I cannot understand it's simplicity
In sight
It is a twist of hair in the seamless breeze
How it wavers without want or will
It simply is
A mess, yet controlled
And always in its own way, and by its own will
Deep water can be cold and treacherous
But shallow water can break, be seen and is warm
I love the water, but not like this
And not to submerge
That's not for me
Though these purveyors of sensation are incredibly
Unimaginably sweet
Little fragments of the past... Are embedded in my mind like pieces of glass. But not all of them are bad. Some of them are meant to last.
