The most promising aspect of my life has been and continues to be my creations dabbed onto paper. I enjoy the excitement and ecstasy of sprinting for a pencil when an idea floats nervously into my head. Even when my fingers begin to shake, and I become eager, I resist temptations to flee and I find the simple courage to continue on a vast journy, that no one should perfectly understood. My modest hands continue turning the pages of my little black notebook as if I had never written a word before. A light- a simple white light, from a far off distance shines upon me, and releases some kind of space hording creation. I redeem myself, by pouring even the drivel thoughts onto paper, making all my prior inconceivable ideas seem real enough to squash when they become too powerful.

Even the ultimate liars could never lie to a blank piece of paper sittin in front of them, staring back, smiling at the pain you cause yourself. Paper shed a balanced reflection of light and dark, both battling for life; you being the judge of weather to proceed or enhance its existence. Since -forever- I remember gleefully jumping at the sight to learn more, at every moment which presented a new challenge in my life. This is another chance, for me to capture yet another white light, and unleash its knowledge to not only msyelf, but others thirsting to know.

Yes the tables are shifting with some, yet I choose to lie, but bluntly tell any person what place my mind assumes, or what the light covers next.

When given a chance I'd love to live under such darkness and with silent motions encompassing my every moment making all a delightful place to contemplate and render abstract thoughts not given enough time during the udder shadows of day.