Post by carmen on Jun 2, 2016 12:31:33 GMT -5
Jack didn't like to say he was a lone wolf. He had his friends, for sure, and he loved to party and be extroverted when he could. But he could never shake the feeling that he needed to be alone often to recharge and just be alone with his thoughts. If anything, it helped him think up songs or poems when he was in a creativity rut. And he could also enjoy a spliff by himself and enjoy nature.
He liked to visit the woods when he was feeling this way, keeping his eyes out for any animals, listening to the crunching of sticks and leaves underneath his feet. He hummed to himself and occasionally stopped to take deep hits of tobacco and weed. He was thinking in his head about a poem or song about those woods in particular, and wondered if he could write it in a way that wouldn't be cheesy or cliched. He debated between different synonyms for the foliage as he kept on walking further in. He assumed he was going straight, and would be able to just turn around and leave when he could.
He stopped and looked around, finding himself in a bit of a clearing with the sun peaking through and illuminating the area. He looked over at a big, sturdy tree and decided it would be a nice place to rest. He made his way over there and took a sea, leaning against the hard wood. He took out a small pocket notebook from the breast pocket of his flannel. He pulled out a small over-sharpened pencil from the rings of the notebook, and began to write. He was definitely enjoying the atmosphere.
He liked to visit the woods when he was feeling this way, keeping his eyes out for any animals, listening to the crunching of sticks and leaves underneath his feet. He hummed to himself and occasionally stopped to take deep hits of tobacco and weed. He was thinking in his head about a poem or song about those woods in particular, and wondered if he could write it in a way that wouldn't be cheesy or cliched. He debated between different synonyms for the foliage as he kept on walking further in. He assumed he was going straight, and would be able to just turn around and leave when he could.
He stopped and looked around, finding himself in a bit of a clearing with the sun peaking through and illuminating the area. He looked over at a big, sturdy tree and decided it would be a nice place to rest. He made his way over there and took a sea, leaning against the hard wood. He took out a small pocket notebook from the breast pocket of his flannel. He pulled out a small over-sharpened pencil from the rings of the notebook, and began to write. He was definitely enjoying the atmosphere.