I think one of the most challenging endeavors is to sit and write only what is true - not only is it sometimes difficult to discern the truth, it can take quite a bit of time as one must pause to question every sentence. The mind is a trickster, it leadeth me into swampy lowlands.
Its effortless to list one's pet peeves, there are so many from which to choose - hair in the soap, sand on the floor, guests arriving empty handed, flowers dead in a vase, books with dirty pages, kids with filthy faces, and on and on. And one can easily identify that which brings joy - the sounds of water and birdsong, color in the landscape, an unexpected kiss, a taste of a sweet creamy anything, and the smile of a loved one. Its the in between that troubles me sometimes. The flow of the mundane that seems endless and eternal, nothing to rock the boat, no swells - where is the truth in that?
oooh. it's poetry! i love your writing. thank you.
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