Out of all the words in the English language,
the only one my mind can think to use at the moment is
Pages upon pages upon pages create a lexicon
Filled with descriptions
And I can only say

When I write, my thoughts are breathtaking, vivacious
And then I say something and all I can breathe is
My paragraphs become the key to unlocking the day
as I paint pictures in my mind;
Discovering hidden moments that transform the landscape
And then someone asks about my day and I want
to tell them about the joys that burst
through the cardboard cutouts of everyday life and:
"It was awesome"

But they smile. As if they know
That one word cannot capture the endless stories
delights and enchantments of this world
So maybe,
Awesome is okay
Until I can show them what I mean

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