I lay my hands on the keys as I sit in silence, searching for inspiration..racking my brain for a topic or a rhyme, something sweet to pass the time. Like a musician my words wrap my feelings, intentions and everything inside, but I am no songstress. I fancy myself a poet..sometimes writing words that flow prettily together.
But every day at least once, I lay my hands on these keys..these tools of my miscommunication, your miseducation and the reality of it is that only thing between you and me are these words that you see. Conversing and convoluted sometimes I take you strange places, like a song.
This is not a song, this is a musing, a quiet moment I’m spending with you, contemplating things that we might share.