Dust and the win

If I could write a smile into the heart of the world, it would be in a dimly lit attic room with a window slightly ajar. The dust from my pencil would swirl on the breeze, floating out into the world spreading my anguish to the four winds. 

What remains on the paper is a shimmering script that illuminates the room creating a warm glow in my soul and a bright smile on my face.  

My fingers and my brain have purpose beyond my naive ambitions. They move like an orchestra stirring thunder and striking bolts of lightening behind a dry wind. My words are the rain that nourish the hearts mending spirits with broken souls. 

Dreams aren’t limited to sleep, nor words to paper. Resting souls breathe life into words illuminating spirits. Each stroke of the pencil is a thought illuminating a word that returns as a feeling. This circle is best felt within a smile.