Averagely mediocre trivialities

 orange skies with a violet haze the crashing of the white blue waves beneath the yellow sun that keeps me sane as i watch the break of dawn again

 I've realised that life is just an endless cycle of hoping, wishing and longing. We as humans are just constantly looking for things to long for; ending either in heartbreak or with us looking for the next thing to pine after. Be it a person, a place, a thing or a feeling, we are in a state of constant longing and never feeling content.  Achieving our dream leads us to a monotonous life and monotonicity makes us bleak. it's a sadness different from the heartbreak of longing but it's a sadness all the same. Human beings are truly a mystery. We're always longing for happiness and yet chasing after things to delay our happiness. Maybe happiness is an idea and not a feeling and the we find joy in the smaller things. Maybe we have been fed the idea of always having to long for something, never being able to be satisfied, feeling like nothing will ever be enough, feeling like we will never be enough, always clinging onto this thin ray of hope, which maybe one day might lead

 I've found solace in words in the form of songs, poetry and stories that whisk me away from the real world I so long to escape.   When I see something beautiful, my heart sings songs in words my brain cannot fathom and my pen cannot conjure. Why is it so that every emotion I feel is coupled with a heartsong that I am able to feel in my soul, but when i sit to write it down the pages remain empty? Why is it so that as a child I would write poems- about the light that shines in the stars that twinkle and the sun that shines, about the rain that would descend from the clouds unto my cold warm skin and the rain that would fall from my eyes unto my cheeks- and yet as an adult the only difference I see on the paper is the blot of the teardrop that dries too fast. Why is it that my heart sings sonnets when I see a painting or a photograph and it paints a picture when i read a poem? Why is it that I am unable to describe in words how I feel and yet words can perfectly describe how I am fe