Dog Food.

I'm quiet today. In spirit. In mind. Only slightly lonely. Less than inspired. More than idle. Slowly stirring. Like clouds before a storm. Not angry, but full. Plump for a harvest of rain. 

So few know me. If any. The way I am when I am alone. Searching. Always. Thinking for hours of strangers and their lives. No reasoning. Just stories. How they pertain to me. And they always do. For I am the creator. No word is separate from me.

I wish for just one day to have the words of a stranger. To think in complete opposites. My repetitive vocabulary and familiar life philosophies. I feel like a dog. Same breakfast everyday. Someone throw me some left overs! To pick your brain would be delicious.