My mind fizzle with letters into words; forming sentences after sentences throughout the stormy night. Stomping aimlessly in my mind with words forming vivid imagery scene. The mind is a wonderful playhouse. God’s greatest gift for his most beloved creation here on earth. I do believe life is suppose to be written on pages. Thoughts staying alive. A voyeur experience to some who love reading the pain and pleasure of others in the shadow. Encouraging them with standing ovation, applauding aloud to encourage indecent exposure. We are convince there is reality in fiction. Why not? Are we not here to play a role in life to be somebody; the world is a stage. The show begin when the curtain rise. As far as the eye can see are empty seats waiting to be fill. A blank script in my hand awaiting to have a dialogue with me. Mask my role.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. – William Shakespeare