I've been having trouble sleeping. Two nights ago, I was laying awake, staring at the ceiling, just... feeling. Feelings without words. And then. A flood of words. I remember thinking that they were so important that I didn't want to forget them so I rushed to grab any paper and pen I could. I fumbled in the dark until I found a small, old, sketchbook, many of its pages still blank. Opening to a random page, I began to write, desperately trying to capture those thoughts. And after I had, I stared at the page. And on the opposite page, I wrote this blurb of a poem.
So strange...
It's like the thoughts come and if I manage to scramble fast enough
to paper and pen,
I can capture them as they flood in.
And then, just like that, my mind is...
Empty.
An empty subway station waiting for the next train to flood my mind with thought.
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