It's strange how one individual can be your source of inspiration. I've had trouble writing ever since he left. I'm having to learn to reconstruct my idea of passion without his presence riveting my heart.
I don't feel empty, yet my fingers hover over my keyboard, and I stare at a blank document. I exhale. I feel a sense of peacefulness. There is no sense of time.
There is just me, the grass tickling my exposed skin, an ant biting my toe, the taste of mango on my tongue. It's just me, and the vivid and soft world. The sun caresses my pale limbs, the banana leaves sway in the breeze, filling the air with a gentle cascading sound. It smells of late Summer, earthly and vibrant. My legs tingle and a shudder runs up my spine.
I inhale. I exhale. I inhale, and I exhale. I'm slowly exhaling all of my prolonged negativity, and I'm inhaling everything natural.
I'm full of bliss, peacefulness, and a pleasantly empty mind.
YOU ARE READING
Poems and Other Shit
PoetryA collection of poems, short stories and journal entries about finding myself in a whirlwind environment of heartache, heart break and rejection. Some are creative, most are true and very real. Each entry reflects something deep, personal and raw...
