When Words Tell Me a Story
As words tell me a story I cherish them with my hands. I wrap my thoughts around them to keep them safe so that they have a person to talk to who’s not too busy to appreciate them. It is my way of allowing a dream to dream of dreaming. An often forgotten art of the world. Where the imagination is freed among the atmospheres of becoming something other than a fact of existing. Excusing itself from the plights of ambition only to exist as possibility, to befriend the breath of life and give itself the pleasure of still being alive among human minds that are more often than not eliminated from its presence with the dire issues of the world and the corporate ladders that shrink beneath feet. It is a friend to us all if allowed to be. Those engrossing visitations of other worldly experiences where a phrase writes in multiple extensive instances outside of needed concentrations where focus is forced into distractive comparisons and derogatory dimensions....