Sometimes I just want to sit and cry. Sometimes I do. Usually when the feeling strikes me like it has today, I sit and I write. Often, there is not a single, definitive thing I want to write about, but I usually uncover something, almost every time. I just write, and listen to music. Usually the music is mellow or at least passionate if not bluesy. And I write with the sad, bluesy, mellow, if not passionate, flow; dragging the truth from the places where it hides inside. The tears flow with the slightest tie to the emotional drag of the moment. And I write…There’s just a lonely man sitting at his desk. He shares in all his honesty, but saves his best. He feels better at times, but still he lacks. He hasn’t done the things he wishes, just reacts. There’s a world out there, he wishes to see. But here, alone in moments, he may always be. Night falls, with the evening sky his escape. Where would he go if it wasn’t too late? Dreams take him to the quiet spaces he loves. Then reality hits and he can’t, just because. Life is lived in the way it has to go. He could do so much more if he only did so. Tears fill his eyes remembering err’s he’s made. And he sits paralyzed, at times still afraid. A small space he runs to now just to write. It’s always better here, at least for tonight.