Occasionally I will sit and stare for so long that my brain becomes like syrup. Every thought that enters my head begins to drip with richness and meaning, even if it's "I wonder if it will storm tonight?" Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Without a doubt, though, when my thoughts become sticky, sweet, and heavy, they ooze slowly back into the nooks of creativity (somewhere they are usually too rigid and regimented to go) and grasp onto the one remaining outlet for writing: this blog, lonely and abandoned as ever.
The sad part is this: I have so many words but so little inspiration. Story of my life.
Those two paragraphs up there are all I have. I need to do things in my life in order to have any remote form of inspiration.
The bad thing about syrup is that you can't have too much of it or else you get sick.
Sleep takes over at this point.
END.
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