A state of matter that exists as it is.

No idealism. 

No expectations that I can surpass.

No romanticization of who I am or once was.

A liberation from my thoughts.

Or not.

 

How quiet reality can be.

While I dream of life with such color and vitality,

I sit in my room.

Dim lighting.

Fan buzzing.

Eyes wandering.

I sit in my room and think

Of what I want, wish, and desire.

And I forget what I am capable of in this quiet reality.

 

A reality that acts like a canvas.

A reality I can paint with my dreams.

With pastel colors.

And different hues.

I forget what my hands and my eyes and my mind and my voice can do.

I forget how they can function to create, think, and inspire.

I forget how they can learn, develop, and do.