Here's a thought: Mind Ya Business!

 For years now I have thought about being a writer. I just can't really explain as to a writer of what though. I realize there is a whole World out in front of me, at my feet yet keeping me fascinated - the task always seems to fall inches short. Sure, I like to learn. I like even knowing things more but in this day and age IF it doesn't have anything to do with violence it really doesn't get much "air" time or spoke of often. Violence was never a thing for me. I couldn't understand then and cant understand now ... Live and Let Live ya know? Just be happy. Do you letting the rest fall into place. Of course there are people (in) my life or at least around it that I can't stand - loath for lack of a better term but I have no time to sit around dwelling on them. I have mountains to move.

     When I was younger I spent a lot of my evenings writing poems. Poems. So many poems. I had a few of them published in books as well as wrote my own one day. I never became rich from it but that's alright by me - knowing someplace in someone's library at their home, I have a little part in it. Lives I don't even know. People I have never met.

     I always seemed to be scribbling down different thoughts, ideas, stories. It wasn't hard to find me at any given time. Follow the pieces of scrap paper that held little slices of my energy. My writing though never progressed past that of being a little girl or a love sick teenager.
     My life took a different turn then that of the alphabet found lounging on white pages - that enjoyed dancing in a blackish hue.

     Lately though as I shift my way though what can only be considered endless hours of this and that's - here's and there's, I seem to be getting lost in superficial thoughts. Feeling as though I am longing for something more then the every day stretched before me - sharing mode activate.

     What would it be like to sit in a quaint little Café all afternoon? A coffee shop? A Bistro even - scants the Tuna on Rye. A small corner booth where single rose buds bloom in teeny glass vases. Where the light hits - dusting the tables with an inviting glow - not so much sun though that it blinds you, only enough to guide the words from your racing mind to your fingertips. Being heated by the ever lit fireplace of embers that doesn't seem to look for death. A lovers retreat. Hidden sanctuary. The scent of sweet Pumpkin Butter wax melting. Sipping on a Mocha, a Latte or a fancy Cocoa in one of those large oversized mugs that are almost to hard to handle. Enjoying small nibbles of tiny over priced cookies that taste horrible yet continuing to indulge in them as you assume those are a part in whole of the setting you wish to create. Pausing. Looking for the snow to start cascading down.

     A Carrie Bradshaw settling so to conjure. Smelling like the color pink. A glowing mixture of pearls and overly high priced diamonds. Lounging back. Being waited on. Being left alone. Typing each of your adventures. Things you know. Travels of the World. A Childs laugh. Photography.

     Alas, reality strikes. Waiting tables in a diner. Soaring above. Rising. Words be told - for now there is no laptop. No glory. No catch phrases. Slouching down: a bead of sweat forms against my flush skin. A nail torn - havoc wrecked over polish cracked. Staring towards the Universe realizing for now that I am content with my old key board - maybe just pretending for a little while longer to be something I am not yet. A WRITER.

                                                                                                                                            Kazz 💋