Imagined Senses

I could talk about the dull senses that fill my world as I write.

The glow of the screen, or the lined white paper.

The numbness in my ass.

Muted sounds of birds and cars.

Summer smells of grass and sand through the open window.

Or the lingering taste of bitter coffee.

But that’s not where my mind is. The real senses, drowned out by the ones alive in my mind.

A clash of swords and spray of sparks.

Scaling mountains of rough rock, muscles burning.

Smell of pine and earth while clambering through a dense forest.

The tang of blood in the air. Charred meatiness of game cooked over a fire.

The rush of running faster than any person ever could.

The pain of loss. The thrill of victory.

Wolves howling. The whoosh of an eagle’s wings over mountains.

Vertigo. Fear. Love. Hate

Every sense and feeling.

Every possibility, all within your fingertips, every time you write.