a lonely voice called into the darkness
but the darkness did not answer.

still the voice called on
"what is it you have that i should listen?" asked the darkness.

"i can keep you company."

anna wanted to make something. she lived at home with her husband james. every morning, james came by her bedside to kiss her goodbye.

"have a good day." he'd say. through the warm spring and snowy winters, james went to work and anna stayed home.

anna dabbled in various art forms. she made watercolor floral and wrote poetry. but anna was sorely unhappy. her heart laid empty without purpose or form.

in the spring she sat under the lighted trees wondering about what the meaning of life was. under cover of early night, she peered through the darkness of her window wondering when her morning of hope would arrive.

james was a lovely husband, supportive in all anna's endeavors. and this made anna even more ill at ease. she felt useless.

"poor me." she pitied.

she was stuck. the kind of stuck that can't be unstuck with a word or two. not even a chocolate cake could unstuck this stuck that she felt.

inside her heart was a yearning unlike any other. a chemical imbalance of the mind that she couldn't just fix willingly. she was deep in sorrow. the kind that called for endless weeping.

all the things she loved was a dim light in the darkness traveling farther and farther away from her. or rather, she from them. it was that hopeless shedding of clothing in the endless tundra of snow in the middle of winter. she'd let it take her if she couldn't help it.

this hole she can't climb out of, no one can fathom the depths. an endless falling.

6 black walls around her. she was floating in the middle uncontrollably. she was terribly afraid.

she was deep in sorrow.

if only she could make something worthwhile, something beautiful that she could give to the world. but the world would take it from her shaking hands without a second glance.

"useless, useless." they'd say.

they say reality is better than a simulation.
if i should want for it, i am surely unwise.

but i haven't been able to stop dreaming of the beautiful mountains.
mountains my eyes have never seen.

and i can't stop imagining a world of sunlight.
in this moment, i sit under a cloudy sky.

That morning I woke up with the view of a ceiling in the sky. A glitch. The script had been forced to run; someone had forgotten to program it.

4 years ago

If I was a writer, I wouldn't mind staying up all night in my library, hidden from society but enveloped in a mirage of literary worlds. The shelves will be overflowing, breaking at the seams with words begging to be read and brought to life by the imagination. I'll be inspired, fed by the imaginary sphere of writers whose legacies went before me. I'll write and study and write some more of distant lands beyond the see-able universe, of a man who travels the dimensions and falls in love with Woman of the Wind, of a girl who can sing her heart's desires into being but mistakenly casts away her ability and searches the world over for it, of a whale who dreams of becoming a little mouse only to find how unsatisfactory it is to have to scurry on little limbs. And when I'm done with those, I'll write of normal things like rain on a tin roof, watermelon in a garden, and airplanes in the sky. There will be endless things to conjure up, there will always be more to say and I will never quit, never tire and never cease to let my mind rest. I'll become a lunatic before my imagination runs out. The history books will record of my manic artistry relinquished to society through proverbs and poems and I will become immortal, living in-between dusty covers that will age through centuries and, in one unimportant moment in time, be picked back up, flipped open and studied, cherished and revered for centuries to come.

my favorite things in life are sunlight, trees, and music.
when they are together, harmony exists in my mind

how did music come to be?
that some sound waves should create melody?

why do branches reach toward the sky?
and the sky weave itself between the leaves?

can the sun truly be my source of joy and comfort?
then why do i feel happy so?

the sky rolled onto the horizon
the narrowing road disappeared into it
if i kept driving i will ride into the sky

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the sky spread above me like a dark blanket
if i should jump up i would fall into it
the stars will swim around my ankles
alight in a watery glow