(Posted in Muddled Memories)
The Night It Became Practical:
The hourglass overseeing his cozy charade had only a few specs of sand remaining.
Crumpled paper that once had illustrious ideas written on it filled the trash can next to his conjuring chair.
It was begrudgingly the time to call a seize fire with his imagination.
With his cap in hand, he went to join the crowd.
Defeat weighed down his presence,
even the guy doing a keg stand could sense it.
His wondering eyes ventilated his broken spirit.
The cap grew heavier in his grasp and fell to the ground.
While grabbing the damned thing, a girl caught his attention.
A faint flame began to take shape.
A scene from his memory bank jolted to center stage.
The flame began to vehemently sizzle.
His eyes frantically searched the room.
Synapses began to rapidly fire.
A surprise attack ensued.
The sand in the hourglass started trickling into the empty end.
He put his cap on and departed in pursuit of a pen.
Continue to In Bloom . . .
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