I used to write love songs. I would run the tips of my fingers over dry earth, my eyes over the trees passing by. Pulling out every word, using the mortality in my thoughts, idealized in eternity.
I used large words to say everything, and no one heard because nowadays people don’t hear large words. Everything is cut into little pieces, the latest sound-bite of the newest fad, now on news stands! (I haven’t looked at a supermarket checkout line in years).
Five hundred thousand points for using the word “dextrosinistral” in a sentence! That is, by the way, a left handed person who is trained to use their right hand. And your prize is…a dictionary?
Admit it…at least once, you have opened the dictionary or encyclopedia intending to read all the way through. Come on, admit it! (looks around) I guess that was just me
I always wondered why the popsicles I made in the summer never turned out like the ones from the grocery store. I was convinced that I could find the perfect recipe, and I wouldn’t have to chew my way through a solid block of ice.
Paper airplanes are the perfect pathways for love notes, if only they would fly in the right direction.
I wish you would stop and ask for directions.