Inspiration hits when I’m submerged in the deep blue ocean that some would call a bathroom.
Their walls coated in a seemingly endless blue,
A monotone mockery.
During the nights, I’d drown here;
English majors would call it a baptism, but there is nothing renewing about revisiting this body of water. I am numb.
Inspiration hits when I’m sitting on the steps inside the structure I’ve been taught to call a home.
My ears experience new sounds and new voices for the first time,
And just like that the fog from earlier clears up. I am happy.
Inspiration hits when I play the music that I fall in love with- me and the rest of my school marching band.
The sounds are familiar to when I first fell in love with music when I was four years old.
This is what I am alive for. I am alive.
Inspiration hits when my friends and I decide to go to a bookstore without telling anyone.
We carpool together; an unspoken conversation hanging in the air.
We begin to plan a road trip across America. I am home.