Writing

I talked to a tree just the other day, I was walking past and it did say,  

Well, what are you? 

Just a traveler. 

But what are you? 

Why, a human, of course, you didn’t know? 

Each of you fluffy white 

clouds 

each of the shapes inspire me I look up into you 

and feel small and big at the same time

It's spring again 

It's sunny again 

It's green and flowers are taking over again

It's warm and the birds are singing again

It's spring again 

Everything is coming out of hibernation again

I’m a blank sheet, a book unwritten,

A sponge, as dry and brittle as the desert,

ready to soak up my surrounding,

no matter what it is, no biases,

I’m so busy now,

Even when I’m not, I’m busy,

Online, scrolling mindlessly, thoughtlessly,

Deeper and deeper into the well,

I used to walk into a theater and it was salvation.

Stage lights and people who filled up a room, 

I was happy to watch them for hours.

I wanted to become some part of that

some part of the instant admiration