I asked my son once
To tell me what it looked like when the sun set On the ocean. I knew that the sand would be stuck in between my toes That cool air would rush through my ears But you can’t touch a sunset You can’t hear it or smell it You can’t even taste it So what good, then, is a sunset to a blind old man like me? He placed his hand gently on mine, fingers on fingers. “Like that,” he said. He pulled something out and handed it to me. It was a glass bowl--smooth, round, and cool to the touch. “Like that,” he said. He handed me a piece of cotton. I trailed my fingers over it, trying to memorize every detail. “Like that,” he said. “Except more.” Like that. Alright. But I cannot imagine anything More beautiful than this. -Atlas
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