Little existence

She came in uninvited, quietly, without notice. She laid there, where the light was. Warm perhaps? One can only wonder why lay comfortably? Without worries, fairs, rush to fly to another warm zone. As once sits and watch what could be a film, story or simply a picture, one wonders why are we never content with what just lays on our wall one evening? And the night starts, the moon somewhere covered by clouds lets us have light, little but just enough so we can be see shadows. One's imagination starts living by itself, coming out in all possibly ways, leaving one staying still wondering about the insatisfaction of the human being. The night goes on and the little light from the moon is now the beginning of the sun raising from below. One can complement a small existence for hours and not notice that thoughts can fly way in different direction at different times and one can only blink and let that small existence fly way. Perhaps another warm spot.