I have the deepest affection for intellectual conversations. The ability to just sit and talk. About love, about life, about anything, about everything. To sit under the moon with all the time in the world, the full-speed train that is our lives slowing to a crawl. Bound by no obligations, barred by no human limitations. To speak without regret or fear of consequence. To talk for hours and about what’s really important in life.
(Source: herarbitrarymusings)
Sometimes I’ll have these thoughts during the day and I think about how great of a poem or basis of a poem they would be, and when I go to remember them later I never do.
This is why I frantically write notes to myself in my phone or write wherever I can. Inspiration is such a devious little fellow.
