Sometimes I like to pretend
I like to say that the ant hills on the ground are mountains that stretch into the sky
That they’d rise above the heads of man and touch the clouds
But I guess that’s a bit silly

Every once in a while I like to envision
I like to say that the droplets of water on the window panes hold their own universes
That they each contain their own stars and galaxies and I imagine that maybe my universe is just a droplet of water on someone’s window and it makes me feel very small
But I guess that’s ridiculous

Now and then I think to myself
I like to say that the sky is just a canvas and the clouds are the strokes spurred from the mind of an artist
That maybe the rain is paint running down from this masterpiece to give the world some of its color, or maybe to wash it away
But I guess that’s kinda absurd

But then again, on occasion I imagine
I like to say that I am someone other than who I am and that this brokenness I feel is not actually a part of me
That maybe those cutting words of contempt were aimed at someone who does not exist and that I am above all of that and I tell the world that I am okay
But I guess that’s a bit silly