My jeans sway to the beat of the breeze, swiftly kicking one leg forward after the next, taking avantage of this moment, as if to say they are aware this is the only excercise they will receive.

The gentle humm of the dishwasher is drowned out by the squeeling sound of my five year old using the suds that spill out the sides as a slip and slide, From one edge of the kitchen to the next, Her actions proclaim she knows it is winter, and this is as good as it gets.

Constant with it's irritating tick-tock tick-tock, the clock moves by ever so slowly at work, and yet the hands move soundlessly at the speed of light, as soon as my key turns in the door, as if to reiterate time is the ONLY thing we have within our reach, but never truly own.

Tap tap tap go the keys on my keyboard, type, pause, backspace. The sound grows louder as the noises in my head form words and spill from my fingertips, in line, for once, with what I intend to say, and actually portray.... as if to prove the best moments of writing come from the times you think not at all.