I’ve tried to write these verses in my mind. I’ve tried over and over and sideways to spit out congruent adjectives to specify the moment, but I’ve failed every time. See it’s harder than one may think to explain images that have only been seen by one set of eyes. It may be strictly egotistical, even excruciatingly offensive, but there is no other way to make the other one understand what can only exist inside the self. (If it exists only there, then it exists everywhere and anywhere.)
Just look for it.
Or is there a crack in the façade, an error in the algorithm? The only step I can take is to make you believe the clouds are made of shapes that are mostly blind to our pitiful eyes. Yes, it is squares, millions of them. Equilateral and acute trillions of triangles make up the smooth cotton candied nimbus. Have you ever seen a sky so blue it made you realize you’ve never seen true blue before? I did. It was the bluest, bluer than the bluest of the crayoned blues. It was light turned into blue, true light manifesting into whatever that is we use to call “blue”. B-l-u-e. Like the sound of a pebble that hits a cemented tranquil almost solid crystal tranquility pond. Like the strangest sound known to man.
The only type of private property, truly private, in the world is the one that only you can understand and even if you wanted to share it, it would be impossible.