the dock.

Sometimes, I run down to my dock. I lie down, stare at the sky, and I just think.

I’m thinking about how the sky changes colors because it feels the need to impress us.

How the earth laughs in dandelions, because they float until they sprout into flowers, which are the earth’s smiles.

How there is an alternate universe, where dwarves have tea at noon and trees talk.

There, the world is in my grasp. The sky is touchable. All is quiet, it’s just me and the sound of waves lapping against the wood.







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