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It’s on the days like this when I’m the most lively. There are the open windows with curtains that play with the spring breeze. The earthy scents dancing with that of a lighted candle. A room just recently cleaned. The romantic voice of jazz, filling me both with bubbling anticipation of falling in love and gently pricking me with reminders of my loneliness. This sense of tolerance for the bickering and snarling worries. A break from the seemingly constant itch of festered longing. Ah, the aroma of coffee in all it’s caffeine filled glory. My hand twirling amid the papers, leaving their ink stained marks to whisper amongst themselves. The discrepancy between my words and how I feel. This lovely form of articulation I can’t seem to grasp, keeps me on my feet and my mind reeling desperately trying to impress and satisfy those who seem so distant. I flutter like those floral patterned curtains of mine: moving constantly yet not traveling any farther than the open window I’m tethered to. The prickling spines of the cacti, biting me as I nurture them with water. The absolute awareness that the world is just as confused as I, yet my stubborn mindset only allows my eyes to see myself. It’s a blighted world yet I refuse to say it is ill. I thrive in the act of living, wondering always how I manage to be completely acceptable of Death yet utterly afraid of her as well. The tumbling waterfall of ephemeral thoughts quiver amongst my fallen leaves just like they do in the poems I write. Poetry… what a new friend of mine. What a gorgeous friend of mine… what a tempting beautiful friend of mine… the things I could do to this flirting, untried, new friend of mine… However I am an abstemious being found to be intimidated by alluring golden words and silver minds. And Poetry, as he sits with his demiurgic intelligence and the presence of both a god and the most mortal of humans, radiating scents of spring flowers, warm lust and mint gum, subdues me. So I simply sit. I sit and think about vocables that might please him, engage him, reveal to him the thoughts I cannot bring forth. How alive I feel today. Sitting here with nothing but titles and Autumn’s somber laugh to accompany me. Only this, and a silence broken by the conundrum of choppy sentences that float in their cerebral home.

It’s days like this, when I’m the most lively.

Author's Note

This is again something that I wrote a while back as a prompt for my creative writing class. It's really nothing big, and mostly just a free write to get me working. It's a bit rough in some spots and my punctuation grammar may not be entirely correct (I've always been weak in that area.) Any critiques are always welcomed, as I can keep in mind any input for further endeavors, but I'm using this piece just as an idea flow more than anything else.