Silence is the key, that and imagination, in this land of pure exhileration
Relaxing, body reclined, propping his feet up on a wooden chair.
As he sits,
Eyes focused,
Hearing cut off, and
Mind running free
His mind full of life and liberation,
Like the body of a nudest,
Open, yet still special.
The journey is one with a destination named tranquility
Noises all around
Talking
Fingers tapping ferociously at key boards
Music playing on neighboring computers
Yet he stays serene.
Thinking of one thing, and one thing only:
Everything.
But everything in his mind,
Unfased by chatting and shenanigans
He sits still
Breathing in and out at a steady rate:
In 123, out 123 and the cycle continues
I find it ironic
How I become distracted by someone so disconnected from the world
By someone not trying to be a distraction
By someone who is just lost in a good novel.
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