An Evening in Spring

Even this small twig, nearly sunk into the mud on this wet and beautiful evening in spring with just a delicate push, could convince me to write…

Marooned by thoughts, slowly and peacefully, drifting through memories… Ones that hover in my palace, all over the horizon more beautiful than this sun upfront ready to go for it’s daily dip…

These pages ready to hold all my emotions, and all the ruthless scribbling ahead. Brushing over the very thought that they would be seeing my broadest grins, and the days I’d be standing in a mirror house without a light…

And even if I’m unable to decide what to write now, brushing away all the dust and dandelions, my thoughts zip back to the wet grass under my feet. These mere strokes will be stuck in my mind, forever… just like my immature love for honey.