Memories. They float around like bubbles. A few seconds, in this case a few years later they pop. We forget. They just float away like storm clouds. Then every once in a while, They float back. Pouring down on us. But sometimes we hang on. Like a balloon, floating up to space. But it doesn't. But sometimes we float with it. Just hanging on, not wanting to let go. Stuck in our own world. Stuck in time. The memories won't go away. They just fade. Like a rainbow. Colorful and bright at first. Then barley able to see at all. Memories. They are kind of like air. Unable to see. But still hanging there right next to us. Memories. Always there. Waiting to be opened. Like a banana waiting to be peeled. Not wanting to turn brown. Not wanting to fade away. But when the banana does turn brown.
Dribbling, juggling, having fun. Scoring goals has to be done. Never be done, Never quit. Because soccer is the best fit. Make up your moves on the spot. They won't know what's coming. Fans cheer. The blazing sun hits your back. Very hot, water is lacking. Running and Running and Running and Running. Losing by one. Come on we can do this. We have this wish please grant it now. And we will be the Kings if the town! One more shot. Just dribble and score. We are scoring, its never boring. Small, large, or in charge. Just be great. Because soccer is your fate. BAM. The crowd cheers. Ears ringing, fans singing. This should be a new beginning. The goal is scored. The team roars.
This page. This limited amount of space. I have to stay in the page, in the lines, on the paper. Everybody does that, it's like everybody has to be perfect. But how. Because nobody can be perfect no matter how hard they try. People say nothings impossible. That's not true. Because know one. Not a single person can be perfect. If we were all perfect, we would all act the same. All be unoriginal, not unique. Imagine. You were playing soccer. The defender would know what you were going to do, how you were going to get around them. Or, writing. Every single person would be writing the same thing. Everybody would like the same foods, the same sport. They would all have the same hair style. The same color eyes. The same room design. Same dream. If everyone had the same dream, how would anything get done. How would we move on. How would we revolve,
This paper. It's so blank. So very, very blank. I can imagine all the stories, drawings, and words. They could be written, drawn. They could be cut, painted, ripped. The story is always blank at first. But it always gets better. But a story is never blank. Unless you let it be. Anything can happen.
Everyone needs a joke. Like I mean it. You couldn't live without that little laugh. That one thing that keeps you going. Especially right now. Like, Why do we tell actors to break a leg? Guess! Because every play has a cast. Get it? Even if you don't, tell another joke. It will make someones day.