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Tips of my fingers

Thoughts are fleeting. They come by to visit…and then they go about their business. Just passing through. Some beg for our attention, others, just to entertain and then there’s some that slip through the cracks…quiet brilliance.

Just waiting to be noticed.

This is why I write. It freezes a thought. It gives it life and allows it to live forever.

Isn’t it so amazing that we can transcribe all the madness inside of us? We can dissect its purpose, visit it, sit with it, leave it alone and then have the ability to come back to it months or years later.

It’s like freezing pieces of our souls. Slowing down time to save a feeling, making it last and last.

I’m a lover of life. A lover of ideas and thoughts and perspectives and opinions and art and music and literature…an intellectual of sorts. Always seeking deeper understanding.

I never want to miss anything.

Writing helps string all of these pieces together.

How else can I explain the magical rush I feel when I have an electrical surge of energy flow straight to my fingers from my heart.

…and there it is, it appears on my page as if my heart decided to peel off a layer for the world to see.

Yes, my heart lies in the tips of my fingers. She pulsates and sits there waiting…

Waiting for the right moment to reveal herself…waiting for a chance.