A piece that was barely an utterance in its earliest stages. An unfettered imitation of the wind’s whispers. What is the formation of a syllable if not the spillage of soft sounds? String along this fluidity, and a word dribbles out. Weave a dozen more together, and like the gentle pattering of rain, a thought trickles down. Pit a pat. Pit a pat. There is an endless range of mediums this composition can fit into. A song, a lyric. Music, an instrument. Little poems with large thoughts. A novel, with the right amount of ambition.
It’s the little things that mean so much, and yet mean so little. And yet they serve as the foundation of my deconstruction – perhaps an unraveling only unique to me.Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in