Inspiration hits when I’m submerged in the deep blue ocean that some would call a bathroom. 

Their walls coated in a seemingly endless blue,

A monotone mockery.

During the nights, I’d drown here;

English majors would call it a baptism, but there is nothing renewing about revisiting this body of water. I am numb.

Inspiration hits when I’m sitting on the steps inside the structure I’ve been taught to call a home. 

My ears experience new sounds and new voices for the first time,

And just like that the fog from earlier clears up. I am happy.

Inspiration hits when I play the music that I fall in love with- me and the rest of my school marching band.

The sounds are familiar to when I first fell in love with music when I was four years old.

This is what I am alive for. I am alive. 

Inspiration hits when my friends and I decide to go to a bookstore without telling anyone. 

We carpool together; an unspoken conversation hanging in the air. 

We begin to plan a road trip across America. I am home.