"Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?" -Henry David Thoreau

I reach out. Slowly, cautiously, my hand moves in the invisible air. Held in a graceful curve, it reaches out in front.
Ah.
My fingers retract from contact. Cold. but invisible. What is this?

My hand approaches again, catching at the air.
Ah.
I feel it once again. A wall, a window, a cold glass pane. Invisible.

Touch.
I find a corner. I walk around, to find the other three, and I sit.
Leaning back, my head hits the air and I rest my eyes.

Trapped.
The feeling washes over me and I open my eyes. To find my breath fogging up the glass.
Invisible turns into white, and the walls seem to close in.

And as I watch the white swirls condense and float in my white box, I turn invisible. Slowly forgotten by the world.

"If I had the time I'd stop the world and make you mine And every day would stay the same with you" -Noel Gallagher

it's the spark that intrigues me. the beautiful flowering of something new. Fire. where the flowers burn, though itself a pattern of petals. i see them play with the wind, shrinking, leaping--all a game.
The candle light might waver with the breeze, but only to catch on the garments of the heart. Fire. it consumes all with its burning passion, but how long will it burn brightly? for in the end, only black ashes are left.
the heart was flimsy paper to start.

ah, my curious mind. this blank paper heart of mine. who will fill it with scribbled stories? when will it all burn away? as i peer into your world i wonder when i can fold my heart into a paper airplane 
and glide next to you. 

"Missing you and hoping that just like a movie script we will meet again one day"- Never Ending Story

scribble.

scribblescribble.

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my thoughts. keep looping around. twisting backwards and upside down. mumbleandjumble.
have i lost it? have i lost my words? my way? my crown?

Words used to be my only lasting friends, but perhaps they have walked away from me as well.

Ah how lonely it is with these broken clouds that blur my mind and freeze the hand.

“Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.” - Carl Gustav Jung

Sometimes I wish life had a soundtrack like in movies.

Epic moments, sad moments, happy days, and rainy ones. 

The slow motion effects.

The moving bittersweet endings to think about and ponder well after the story ends.

But perhaps that's what memories are for.