Wistful thinking

I sat in class, an evidently eccentric man before me. A poet; a man; a traveller; an observer of the world much like you and I.  

Anthony Suter. That is all I knew.

 It was rather uninteresting to say the least, the combinations of vowels and consonants seemed almost strenuous; floating aimlessly around the air so close to my grasp, I just couldn't find the energy to reach out for them.

 Instead I wistfully gazed out of the window, an audience to the too and fro of elegant dancers dressed in the finest silver silk. Green hair flowing long and wild in the wind- entrancing every fleck of gold within my iris.

 Unable to look away I fell further down the rabbit hole until I came to an abrupt halt...