Creativity641

Gentle as water sliding down your face,

A voice like a bell.

A smile as delicate as a rose,

But as strong as an eagle.

Hands and arms with ink scribbled over them like tattoos.

Hair like a sunset.

Every time I open my eyes I see a different world staring back at me. 

Sometimes it’s beautiful. 

Sometimes I hate it. 

Lately, I've seen more hate than love. 

Freedom is a concept I think about often.

A concept I don't really understand.

Yes, we have it.

But it often feels like we don't.

How am I supposed to see how free I truly am, when I just feel trapped?

Experiences.

They're a gift all on their own.

Spending time with friends, laughing and talking about stuff that doesn't even really matter to anyone but us.

Immersing myself in a world of roleplay, where I'm whoever I want.

Because of these things called phones, those of us born in the digital world have far too large receptors for dopamine.

Miniature computers, larger dopamine receptors.

Harder to get content and joy.

The old hay rake stands alone, all but forgotten.

The trees tower over it, youthful, green, and most importantly, remembered.