You close your eyes and your thoughts bubble up. Spread out from all corners. Wear the fabric of varying vibrant words. Very soon, they are carrying meanings and colors. A dance happens. A beautiful, rhythmical dance. You like it because it has all your soul. You see parts of yourself you had been waiting to see. And you realize you can hold it lightly from the tip of your wand and place it down on paper. There, it can live forever as a poem.
But you don’t do that. You force it away. You shove it powerfully with your hands– all those thoughts and words– and you push the splendid dancer in a grey, dark cell. She falls and she quietens, and she holds her bruised arm. You can’t see the colors anymore and you sigh with relief.