Freewrite v3.22.07
Light pouring over my shoulder bathes the trees ahead of me. I've become the dark shape in sihlouette against the overwhelming contrast of brightness and the absense in black. Only there isn't anything to see me standing on the ridge before the forest splayed out across the mountainous foothills. Just me in front of a car with its headlamps blazing into the purple-morning.
What am I doing?
I silently ask myself, expecting the question to be lost without response, my mind lacking caverns to echo within. I am surprised, however, when the question is returned by a voice lacking tone and din, and yet, carrying a weight of honesty I am unfamiliar with.
Hiding
I almost ask what that was supposed to mean when I realize I already know what it means, even if I do not believe I understand.
This is where you go to get distance Much like how you would hide under the bed, in the closet or underneath the piles of clothing in the laundry room when you were much smaller This is where you endlessly expand outwardly embracing your environment and inevitably collapse upon yourself
My eyes have glazed over and the contact lenses I'm wearing have begun to dry and shrink in the dry morning air as I stare unblinkingly over the twinkling cityscape a thousand feet down in the valley below.
What am I doing?
I silently ask myself, expecting the question to be lost without response, my mind lacking caverns to echo within. I am surprised, however, when the question is returned by a voice lacking tone and din, and yet, carrying a weight of honesty I am unfamiliar with.
Hiding
I almost ask what that was supposed to mean when I realize I already know what it means, even if I do not believe I understand.
This is where you go to get distance Much like how you would hide under the bed, in the closet or underneath the piles of clothing in the laundry room when you were much smaller This is where you endlessly expand outwardly embracing your environment and inevitably collapse upon yourself
My eyes have glazed over and the contact lenses I'm wearing have begun to dry and shrink in the dry morning air as I stare unblinkingly over the twinkling cityscape a thousand feet down in the valley below.
Labels: freewrite, How many cans?, Me, thoughts, Writing
posted by Forrest at 8:52 AM
5 Comments:
I feel familiarity of myself in this style of writing. I am happy to see someone speaking my language. :)
Thank you for sharing it.
:)
This is one of your greatest free writes that I have read.
Thanks for making my morning cheery.
Being in English class, this is comparable to the classics I'm reading. Beautifly descriptive, you put only the wonderful essentials in and are left with something I think all can relate to.
-Andy the Man
Whoa, I ..uh.. Thank you!
Dude you never freakin post...EVER!
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