I sprayed it, I bleached it, i wiped it with soap, Ammonia and yet that darn spot...
Its a small mis-shapen spot, that is indigo, or at least that's the color I prescribe.
Everyone is sitting around sipping their sparkling drinks laughing and enjoying the music.
For God's sake someone say it, say how did that blue spot get there.
Someone acknowledge that its there. Maybe I can tell a really cool how it got there story.
Considering that even I don't know when it made its appearance.
Only I would notice its disappearance.
Only I have put credence into that little indigo spot, because I can,
Because I will because I am the only person in the room who feels that to not notice
would mean that I am not living in this moment.
sometimes, I am the indigo spot in the room,
sitting with the mindless empty people who smile and laugh and occupy space with the blah, blah, blah.
But who have no idea that someone in the room, in a space is a small indigo spot and we wouldn't notice if they spot if it was there because its so small and insignificant to so many that if it were to just fade away into the rest of the colors in the room we wouldn't notice.
I was cleaning the carpet and this random thought occurred.
You may want to stop my writing to you because you will find it often very ironic.
©2011 Stefanie Stevens
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