It was all so normal. Normal in the sense that birds and smoke are normal. All so, in the sense that all my mind was filled with was birds and smoke. They crowded my senses and demanded answers from me. From me! The man that would be anything except what God made him. The stretch in my skull was unbearable and I feared that if it did burst it would flood the realm with everything I had been holding in. What was I holding in anyways? The thought issued from the tear duct as a small puff of smoke. What was I holding in? Was I holding in all that truth that I knew? All that truth that fell between the spaces of thermodynamics and the feeling of comfortable nostalgia that a cool October breeze gives you as you it coxes the trees into one last burst of colors. Bright truth in a void so dark it threatens to pluck from your memory what it was like to be a child. I remember being a child. In a kaleidoscope of fears, confusion, and sugared stupor I waded through the muck of that joyful time to find this mind that I currently enjoy and curse. Then I was struck. My shoes had turned to oceans and I waited on the shore of a mountain hoping for a time when the world made sense. Normal sense. Normal in the sense that birds and smoke are normal things. I wanted that sense and I also wanted to let sense go and just rest for once. Rest in the arms of that truth. from Enigmatic Texture