I was going to go to bed, but is it alright if I converse with you for a moment?

Call it the plague of writers. Call it craziness. I need to write now, but I've no particular thoughts you'd be fond of. I can tell you this won't be promising. But I need to write.

Have you looked at the moon?

I absorb every note of sound. I do. I thought about it long ago and concluded that sound waves bombard the body and sink into the pores and openings and resound within our bone cage. Our turbulent tummies and inner organs all make sounds. Not very pleasant, but a miracle no less than music. How do you even define music? The moment you define anything you limit its capabilities. That thought has bothered me lately. Just by naming something we do it an injustice. And yet we take such care to name our children. Is that, too, an injustice? I would initially think it wouldn't have an effect simply because the child grows up to be whatever destiny planned for it. But to think that would change the rules of naming and would be a double standard, as we certainly limit what a tree is by calling it a tree. We certainly have ruined it. Who am I if not Susan Elizabeth Willis? How have I been unjustly named? I don't feel at a loss. But then, I'm not a tree.

I tell you...you lose one thing and it's gone forever.

But that's not always bad.

I wonder if sound mimics life. Or rather, if it was meant to mimic life...I don't believe the scientists! Who are they to say that sound emits waves of a circular pattern that expand into larger circles? No. I think sound is a damn good con artist. What if sound is actually five dimensional? Emitting waves in the shape of mountains. What if each wave was a different color...every single sound wave that ever existed. Or no no no, what if sounds of the same frequency were the same color, and sounds of another frequency were another color, etc.? Mmm...listing to music would be so beautiful then...

Have you ever scientifically examined your body? It's positively incredible. Arms, legs, hands, elbows, eyes, tongues, go down the list! I love to stare at my hands and think about the bones inside and all the ligaments moving in perfect sync with my brain to contract my fingers or open my hand. The veins in them. The finger nails that protrude from your flesh. Really, we're all just weird. But we're beautifully weird.

I think I'm satisfied. Of course, selfishly so. I only desired to relieve my mind. I needed to write.

Have a good night, reader.

Sayonara