status quo.

sitting here in a semi-quiet room, i'm watching out the window the bright, rain drenched grass sit, calm. the trees sway calmly and the sky's grey contrasts with everything else. everything else that is bright and fresh with the newness that wet in the night brought.
there's only so much stuffing oneself on different tones of music that sooth the ears, comforting textures of fabric that enfold the body, exotic cuisines to awaken the taste buds. . .
. . .and it's all nothing, nothing, nothing when they're but forms of distraction.
when i have a dozen inspirations all flitting about my head, i wish i'd the excuse of running out ink or losing my fountain pen - perhaps even a depleted supply of quills - instead of, with firm will unmovable, putting the blank-paged, waiting book up on a shelf and going to find some other means of entertainment. anything else will do. just please don't make me record my words - myself - for further investigation. i'll just write it down and, like magic, faeries, and Pegasus', it won't be there when i wake up.
but i don't wake up, and it's there. so very there. oppressive.
i wish i could find word warm enough to tell you what i really think instead of these stumbling, choppy, one-syllable things that make noise like ones voice in an empty, white-wash-walled room.
i wish i didn't feel quite so much and that i could forget without feeling like a fake.

Photo credit Anessa J. Marinucci.

i suppose that it's like you say, "that's the way things are."
but it's so difficult to 'take it'.