An awfully distracted mind,

The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories

Like a butterfly, flitting from thought to random thought, never staying still for more than a few seconds. The eyes run over the words on the page, unseeing. The mind catches up, wondering what it was the eyes just saw. The eyes run over the same words again, but the mind does not comprehend, because it has flitted off once again. The cycle repeats. The eyes get tired of running over the same words again and again because the mind is always going off on a tangent. They feel like closing for a nap. The place is cold, silent, with the occasional rustling. Outside, the sky slowly turns dark. The eyes flick to the clock repeatedly. The mind taps the feet, counting down to the time to go home.

The mind just wants an adventure. The eyes just want to see new things. The feet just want to go someplace new.