Butterflies and Hurricanes

They were sitting there, perched precariously, tipping ever so lightly on the tips of her fingers. There was electricity pulsating through her nerves, as if her heart was bursting to pour itself out on the keyboard. Words flew, like tiny wisps of cotton candy dandelions flying through the summer breeze. Words, like fireflies released from captivity, out of a bell jar, flitting towards a dark, velvety, moonless sky. Words, like big water pellets finally breaking free from the sighing, heaving clouds, embracing the solemn, dry ground they were destined to meet.

Close your eyes. Do you see what I see? Do you sense, even for a moment, that we have an instant, karmic connection? Do you realize that right now, right this very moment, we have the exact same thoughts? Right now, I am reaching you, touching you, evading your mind, getting into your head, and percolating your senses with these words.

Words. Infinite. Limitless. Endless. And yet, never enough to relieve her of her timeless, boundless, relentless forage into this endless labyrinth. Never enough to fill the yawning, gaping hole within this melancholic trance-like existence. I am here. And once more, I am writing. Trying to contain this crushing mountain of epiphanies, revelations and reveries. I am here, I am writing. Trying to salvage some semblance of sense from this flowing fountain of eternal nothingness. I am here, I am writing. Because this is all I can do.

I am here. Where are you?