The silence envelops the surroundings as miniature drops trickle from a partially closed faucet. Deafening as it may seem, emotions that move like butterflies from one fragment of my being after another, smothering all the visual abstractions. Abstractions, that insatiably consumes one's identity.
Midget fireflies went around the glaring, deceiving light that serves as a lustful, heavenly sight for the ones with a blinded mind from the digital plight. As I stare closely at the circular shining saber habitat, my vision was blurred by black and white squares reversing its silent cadence like the visual manifestation of echoes, Like the signing off of a television program. Like the end of the perceived illusion of time.
Instantaneously, random reflections like clouds in the sky circulated my view as though words came rushing in huge numbers constantly circumnavigating my rigid eyes' planetariums of vision. Persistent voices of questions seem to blow through as shouts and screams unrelenting in my already deafened ears even though the prevailing feeling was reversed in tide.
Suddenly, the old man of soul said, "Come hither to the bed, make thy self slumber."
With the cellular phone adjusted to the right alarm settings, I looked back at the computer, blinked, and decided to sleep.