For me, words are like a sweet fruit waiting to be plucked.
In certain moments, the light glints off the brightly colored skin. The smell teases your nostrils and you can almost taste its sweet, delicious juice.
But in many of these moments, you can't stop to pick it, because you have school, work, commitment... Life pulling at you every which way.
But you can't wait too long.
If you do, the color and smell of the fruit begin to fade, and the fruit sits less solidly in your hand. As you carry through and eat it, your tongue bothers your brain, and even as you lick your lips, you think the taste is slightly off.
There's something... missing... lost in that past moment of inspiration.
Until the next moment.
In certain moments, the light glints off the brightly colored skin. The smell teases your nostrils and you can almost taste its sweet, delicious juice.
But in many of these moments, you can't stop to pick it, because you have school, work, commitment... Life pulling at you every which way.
But you can't wait too long.
If you do, the color and smell of the fruit begin to fade, and the fruit sits less solidly in your hand. As you carry through and eat it, your tongue bothers your brain, and even as you lick your lips, you think the taste is slightly off.
There's something... missing... lost in that past moment of inspiration.
Until the next moment.
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