i suppose you’d find it hard to believe that at my age i can easily climb to my treehouse but i can and do it’s where i go to be alone with my thoughts trying to make sense of the senseless or finish a dream that i didn’t want to end i’ve been going there for years whenever life becomes chaotic or just too depressing for words i go there for a little r&r now if for some reason you can’t recall your childhood treehouse or hiding place you may want to increase your cognitive load and reconstruct it you’d be surprised how much magical healing is still there
club’s
well short
of
a quorum
just
a few old jazzers
with
hearts
pulsating
to
piano notes
no one
but
the musicians
on
stage
seems
to notice
the lack
of
patrons
all that matters
to
the old jazzers
is
the music
the antidote
to
the world outside
it’s
been that way
forever
it seems
music
counteracting
the poison
of
the world
releasing
a flood
of
sweet memories
with
just
a few chords
and
notes
hovering like a hummingbird thirsting for nectar you press near to those you deem famous taking endless selfies with them what i wonder is what’s missing in your life what do you believe can be healed by touching the hem of their existence
Read Between the Minds 