Tick tock.The omnious sound of time ticking away, melting this day and forming a new one from the orange-puplish depths. And yet i still sit, waiting. On what? I don't know. But i feel that if I wait long enough, I'll figure it out.
How long has it been? A day? Two?
How long have I sat and stared at that blank, gray canvas? Eagerly awaiting life. A portait. A story that is told by the stroke of the charcoal, and by the meticulous brush of the finger. I can even write instead. Words flowing like a tumultous walterfall, gushing forth pent up rage and exasperation, embracing truth, love and failure.
Understanding.
The colours of my mind are vivid and clear. I see what is to be seen. But I can't comprehend fully. My perception and reality are the same. And the thing that confuses them both is love. Many have asked the question and none have approached the answer. What is love?
You won't understand it. At least, you're understanding of it is a lot more complicated than the next man's, as is his. .
I breathe deeply. Inhaling the scent of the day. The time. Every little change on the wind has some intricate design woven into the fabric of time. Just like love .. and until we either unravel the threads or squint our eyes ever so close so we can make out the pattern, all we have is time ..
To understand. To create. To wait. To love.
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