Some would say that it’s just my wistfulness longing for younger days. Daydreaming or wishing for some far away place that I’m sentimental about. But it’s not and I know that because I want, in my right now, to set my hands in motion to build my life’s dreams outside of the confinements of others wild schemes that lead me away from the moments that I would sit down beside you to idly chide about concepts of nature, about poetic writings and prose, about sceneries and concepts of our thinking that births our wantings. Lives that we developed to interblend and course together with purpose to make our aliveness anew in our own likeness without ancient concepts of religions and governments, without postulations of societies needs, that formulated who we should be, where we could be, and how we must live out their designs of classifications and generational groupings in mass conglomerate industries who never care to know us. Some would say that I’m way too traditional, without knowing how very much further I think about the times that were made for a human mind to evolve with ideas that thrive to establish themselves in all walks of life. The building of its concepts of success, the making of a home, the encompassing of friends, the intimacies of sharing the affections long locked inside the affinities of each soul's needfulness that rises and reaches out for fulfillment's touch. While I in my mind create visions of visitations to provide the essential commodities of such an audacity.

Some would say that I’m a lost cause of humanity, daring to sit down and put into print such hideous forms of caring for my life. That the world is now set in its own ways to sanctify the imbeciles of greedy gods who care not for the time of hands in search of performing such simple acts of resolving the need for activity between thinking and expression. They have provided their own paths to their farcical natures without admitting that there are those, who by their own nature, still needs moments of freedom to ramble around in observation and reminiscencings to allow the digestion of thoughts to enter and expound their ever growing possibilities in becoming more than an image of a reflection perpetrating empty sentiments into life without the probabilities of their becoming. They are unto themselves a part of the living within the boundaries of acceptance to maintain the stability of beginning tasks to complete a cycle of information being passed through understanding.

Some have accused me of being too young, others swear that I’m too old, not enough of one thing and then too much of another to be anything at all. Yet I press on through those struggles past their attempts to limit my ideas of mindful thinking to literate my thoughts into form so that I can imagine standing atop a hillside in fresh falling snow, ankle deep and then some, while the cold winter winds whisps playfully around me in the company of beloved faces, laughing at the sights of sledding down hills on sunless days. Where the sky is a brilliant gray, shining with thick white clouds and shimmering in the glow of friendships making memories everlasting to share with others along in life who would need cheering during moments of living when the darkness of ill fates crossed boundaries of sanity’s sake for the impersonation of importance. Forgetting that being alive is the most important, is the bountiful harvest, is the most desirable dream so easily fulfilled by all of those who are willing to participate in its goodness without remorseful obligations to destroy the decadence of the days spent playing in life’s fulfillments.

Some say daydreaming is a waste of time because they have already decided the value of all arts, defined all expressions, characterized all people, expounded every possible relationship, invented all concepts of need, and mastered all living. While I scoff at their ideas of personifications and categorizations of intentions that ply misery for company, imitations for imaginations, destructions as inventions and dominance as instructions for a prevalent advancement of unauthorized agendas. Yes there are days where I would scream at the top of my lungs if only I were the type. Yet I know all too well that it does my life no good to partake in such atrocities against myself and refuse to grant their requests for my perpetual condemnation. Because I’ve looked deeply into the eyes of devotion’s benevolence to embrace the endearments of gentleness and compassion so that I might recognize myself, among all others, as a participant in its continuation of existence without the regrets of knowing the beauty of passions place in the living breath of us all. I have suffered the scorn of the ridiculing mindsets that wish nothing more than to disturb the decencies inside the affections longing to be reciprocated by another who too understands that all can be as we want if only we were conjoined mutually by our honesties.

Some say that life is a game of daring and pressurized mutations to form moments of indomitable rebellions to the deities of accomplishments while many are discarded upon the altars of hope as a sacrifice to unseen dominations. While I sit here with my laptop computer trying to find a suitable partner for the evening to slow dance with in my thoughts as the mesmerizing sounds of an amorous melody opens my minds eye to a gentle face in need of a delicate touch, a picturesque tenderness, an unyielding acceptance of enjoyment without the demands of expectations to be met further than we are or would want. Knowing the repose from such demands of plagiarized expectancies often explores more to implore than can be rushed. And hey, I’ve got all the time in the world to entertain my ideas of you putting on something that makes your supple skin feel the caressing breath of a cloud’s touch, while it massages away all the weariness from your days without me; and you can giggle at my silliness as I take your hands in mine to ease you closer to me, where you feel the enticing need to breathe in time with my breathing as the mild sounds of the evening carry your imagination away in billows of imageries, inhaling the scents of our blending together the moments of our unspoken wants, to compare to our maiden introduction into the essence of tranquility as we watch our silhouettes mimic our movements across the walls of the room awashed in candles light.