Growing up alone,

Was hard.

Guitar, melancholy songs, ...

Perspective matters.

For many years,

Other points of view,...

Things I can’t see,

Yet rather believe exist.

Just there, ...

In younger days,

I likewise wanted,

To leave something behind. ...

I find it curious,

And rather inexplicable,

That even inanimate objects, ...

A happy flower,

Or a friendly,

Ten-eyed beast. ...

Growing up,

I was taught to climb.

Stairs, trees, mountains, ...

If we were all,

Meant to look,

And feel the same, ...

White, blank pages…

A mystical place,

Where imagination roams, ...

Not all kings,

Wear crowns of gold.

A few are modest, ...

Time has flown…

It feels like yesterday,

Yet it has been more. ...

Densely packed,

Yet varied.

Some are open, ...

Some obscure,

Quiet corners of our world,

Are too dangerous, ...

The day is only starting,

But it already looks blue.

Must have slept badly, ...

Today I’ll emulate,

Being a corn stalk.

Unbending, tall, ...

Today I saw a picture,

That was hard to understand.

I tried imagining, ...

Days,

Like sunsets,

Come and go. ...

Mosquitos,

Don’t need direction.

They find their way. ...

Oases don’t only exist,

In dry, desolate deserts.

Sometimes they appear, ...

Holes,

Can always be filled.

But that, ...