Writing hasn’t felt as inspiring as of late, until it did. I wrote this bit outside on my patio just now. It’s short and hardly makes any sense but I like it. (Sidenote: the picture shown is not the picture of the sky I’m describing. It’s just a pretty sky I took a picture of) 🙂
‘Lists. I’ve been writing lists like a madwoman because that’s what people like to read nowadays. Bite-sized compilations that are supposed to illicit a bunch of feelings while being informational and of course ironically funny in under 500 words. Lists. I’m starting to really hate lists.
I forgot how beautiful it is to write from the soul. I looked up at the sky this evening and it was baby blue with white streaks sweeping across the open escape. Some time passed and I looked up again. Nothing else around me changed much but the sky. The sky was on fire. No, it was blushing. The white turned rose and the blue began to fade. The sunburst from the orange and red hues reflected back on the deck. I could feel the warm pink light on my face. I wanted to keep that sky forever, to hold onto it for another day, for another moment when staleness entered and I was empty. The sky filled me full. I could watch it for hours.
I remembered the lists again.’