Good times and basketball fields and grass everywhere and football in the sun at midday. And teachers and loud noises, and forgotten lessons. Carelessness and mathematics and fearlessness. And then there is now, which is a complex equation. Such a difference, the rethought and the the thought. Now and before. What a contrast. Black and nothing.
Where is the leaf, asked the summer. In the midst of winter, away from the pale blue bucketful of beer and sunshine. Washed over by a question that thrilled every leaf of grass. Where is the sky? And the sky opened up like a drop going down a funnel, and falling down a waterfall. Only this, this happened in one corner of my eye. Seeing and believing, then forgetting. Dead. Alive. Then dead again. And then a burst of stinging fireworks. In every inch of this that is. And some rhythm, and some colour, and a mighty mountain of light, and a tower of cotton bags. The smell of wet earth in the air, a halo of solved problems. Clarity. Just not momentarily. Distant. And present.
Ever feel alive? Ever feel like you are everything you need, and the oceans will rise and dance for you? Every fleeting moment, you live a hundred more, and so forth. There, and there, it fades out into a deception. It is all false. All is not real. Such is the nature of the truth and that which is not. Good comes and goes, and then bad comes, and then good, and then whatnot. Look out for signs. To learn where to go. What to be. And when to sleep.