this is lame

[post_lobotomy]

sometimes when i'm reading and i read something that i love- a paragraph, a phrase, a word, a sentence, an idea- i'm looking through a keyhole into a lush garden of tentacle vines and tree trunks and spongy moss that i've never seen before. so i read it again and i don't turn the page. i set the book down, i get up and walk around and feel baby grass in between my toes and i open my fridge and eat a berry off the bush.
i'm at a part in this chapter that i just want to revel in. i don't want to walk the linear path. i want to make angels in the grass.