Random Fictional Creative Outbursting

         He longs to paint a horizon that awakens the moon. One that spreads orange across pink cheeked clouds, doting the "I's" in skies with a massive glowing star as it descends between the cracks of mountains. He waits for minutes to pass between the sunrise and sunset, while the canvas is black before him. 

          Sugared sweet taste buds slide upon red, ripe, raspberry, lips. His eyes are clear, crisp, and sky blue, piercing life’s path before him. He stands tall, confident, but quickening breaths depict the aching within the heart of his thoughts. He is broken, but is afraid to admit it. The lost wanderer searches for his shattered mirrored reflection through old notes, photographs, and memory stained restaurant tables. He is seeking creativity to distract from recent notions. Notes prance out his musical fingertips, striking a melody with each touch upon cold white elephant ivory piano keys, twisted wired strings pulled tight on guitar screws, or a old shoe box holding nothing but tissue paper. When two lips move coherent, a soft lullaby escapes, making him feel that everything is going to be okay. Arms, strong and sturdy, hold tight against his heart. He is a protector of innocence and broken pulses. He is beautifully simple. There is a list of passwords to step inside his mind. Codes and tricks to see passed blinking pupils. He is deeply complicated. His hands, larger than mine, cup warmth and desire between palms. He longs to grasp love by the throat, strangling it until every breath is his. He has a name, and although it means nothing to you, it means the world to me. The bold letters designing his signature create a short rhythm when spoken.