"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Saturday, November 14, 2009

The Clamors of Family.

Even now, as I'm sitting here writing this, screaming and shouting jumps up from all sides. Blegh, I think I'm far too mature for my cousins. They still do that thing were when we all get together, we all have to be together and play together. I don't do kids games anymore. I don't chase, I don't tussle, and I sure as hell don't do the whole make believe thing. Funny, coming from a writer, isn't it?

I wish I still could. A part of me really wants to dive right in, grab a pillow and smack em all around a bit. I'm just too mature for all that. It's like being the big fish in a little puddle. They're all so entranced by their fantasies, and somehow I've forgotten what it was like to lose myself in the twines of my own imagination, I can't ever let my mind stray too far. Not anymore, anyways.


No comments:

Post a Comment

"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."