The cosmic writer

Time slowly flew by as I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The night was carrying a beautiful eerie silence with hints of pleasant breeze through the window. I could hear the clock beside me. Tick-tock, a tick and a tock, rhythmically resonating with my heart beat. Chris Martin was singing at a distance and I couldn’t help but swing my head slowly as the faint, almost dying beats kissed my eardrums. I want the night to stay. To get lost in those stars and fly away with the wind, exploring planets and diving into vortexes. I want to float in the cosmos dancing with the nothingness as the galaxies watch by and as the night unfolds the beautiful unreal. 6 hours for the sun to wake up, but there are still 6 left for the night to sleep. It’s a creative one, the night, an introverted, shy writer showing off her skills to only the chosen few. With a heavy heart I bid adieu as I notice it writing off with the heavenly cosmic ink and I whisper under my breath that I’d meet her again with a new canvas to write on.

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