Work

The machine whirs to life, adding color to a plain bucket devoid of excitement. I watch as each drop of color falls in, sinking into that sea of white acrylic, adding an emotion waiting to blanket a wall.

Three drops of blue, solemn and alone, but hanging high above in the sky.
Five drops of green, smart and aged, imparting wisdom from old roots.
Two drops of red, headstrong and youthful, waiting to explode with passion.

I hammer the lid back on, making sure that all that energy gets contained, all that emotion does not escape. The can now goes to the mixer.

I place the can in and smile, watching as the mixer shakes fervently, creating a new emotion that may just be one of a kind, to be applied in someone's home and someone's heart.

Today, I dreamt and I wept.

This is not who I want to be.

Shackled by numbers never knowing what integer is the right key that will set me free from this numeric prison. Paper forms that require signatures, signatures that require forms, a never ending cycle of administrative chains connected to that prison.

I just want to dream. I want to dream in vivid text, colors filled in by sweeping monologues and jarring dialogue. Conflicts created from trying to find the right words to say -correction- the perfect words to hear.

I don't want to live a life of crunching numbers. I want to live a life of weaving words.