AdriTheDreamer
The stone is striped. The shape, the lines, and the colour made me stay. It seems to mean something. But I wonder, if it really meant something, or do I want it to mean something?
Or can it simply be an onyx, simply existing among all rocks on Earth?
It is hung somewhere around the kitchen. It is no longer new, and almost like it is going to break soon. But the tiny bit of imperfections are the stories of the dishes that it witnessed; bitter, sweet, salty, and with all tastes of the world.
He somehow knew that he was not feeling well. He walked to the mirror on light steps, and all he could see was a face lacking of colour. Lifeless. Pale.
It is a blazing sun radiating all of its fire and glory on Earth. Those who are not sheltered are craving for a shade to keep them safe.
Square, triangle, rectangle.
We all can tell what kind of shape something is. We named them, we categorized them, and this knowledge is dispersed around the globe.
How do we know, however, if we all perceived shapes the same way?
It is like clouds. Marshmallow. Cotton.
It feels nice to touch. It feels nice to lean on.
It feels as if there is something lightly conforming you.
It is soft. And it is great.
The clouds are all of a burning colour. The sun has tuned down its attack, now a mild fireball. The backdrop sometimes blue, sometimes brown, sometimes violet.
It always feels good, looks good; except that darkness is the following.
"Technically," he said as he grabbed a few blueberries and munched on them, "blueberries are not berries. But bananas are."
"You have said it many times."
"But just like these blueberries that I keep buying," he held up one single unit of the tiny fruit and inspected in back and forth, "this knowledge has its own fun to think of."
We always like to talk about the big picture; the grandiose, the entirety, the whole.
But often times we forget the things around us. The details between the lines. The ideas that are already reachable.
Start small.
Knock on the neck, shake, and somehow the cork released itself.
It was a festive, or probably celebratory, event. The mood was high. Alcohol seemed the best way to push it the furthest. The air was elated and drunk until the sun rose again.
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writing since 2025 · 62 entries · 62 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Adrian showed up.
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62days written
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the words Adrian reaches for
walkednowskyeyessunhandstoodsometimestreeswonderspotslightprobablydarktinyair