I Am Writing Response

I am the hours and days.  I am the time spent reading.

I am the intense apprehension, disappointment, and elation.  I am the soccer game.

I am the aching muscles and wild thrill as the gusty wind hurdles about.  I am the summit of the mountain.

I am the white and black.  I am a Latter-day Saint.

I am the black and white.  I am the sharps and flats on a piano.

I am the sum and conglomeration.  I am the experiences.

I am the vanilla extract.

I am the peach Pace bar.

I am the small, soft breeze.

I am the rustling of deciduous leaves on trees in the small, soft breeze.

I am the deep, dark, navy blue of a favorite shirt.

I am the sum and conglomeration.  I am the senses.

I am the C.S. Lewis, wait, no, the Apple.  Ah, what I really meant is the long iTunes playlist.  Actually, now that I think about it, I would have to say the cleats and shin guards.  Shin guards?  Who wants to be that soaked with sweat?  Rather I am the abandon of a first grader finished with homework, laying amidst the sweet-smelling grass on a trampoline, the cool breeze offset by the slow warmth stealing up from the black tarp.

I am sometimes indecisive.