At the center of boredom you might hear vast emptiness, 

silent enough to hear the blood pulsing through your veins. 

The swirl of loneliness chills your bones.

When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns as drops of rain 

tapping on your window at 2 a.m. begging to be let in. 

The stars can still be heard behind the clouds

 like a pianist's fingers dancing across the keys in a pitch-black concert hall.

The shape of the past fits inside an old cardboard box, 

shoved to the back of your closet to wait in the dark silence.

If you jump into the present, 

you’ll land on a golden river of hope coursing into the future.