sundown musings

speck of dust

it's funny how anything, literally anything—a piece of rock, untied shoelace, or even a fallen leaf could be an inspiration of a masterpiece. how brilliant writers are for turning something that seem so small into a huge piece of art.

how words like "it's unimaginable and utterly impossible for me to exist in the only habitable place without you...", when in reality, i was just talking about my love for french fries.

it's funny and brilliant, at the same time. but the question is, are we writers or unapologetically liars?

ps. note the sarcasm, confusion and laughs in between.

s i n|"a speck of dust turns into sprinkles of reality"