And don’t speak. Unless it’s about fictional characters.
Sep 29 2014
They will not come to me. They shadow dance on my walls and seep through my fingers, but the words will not come to me. For I am their leper, their albatross or perhaps I am their cross to bare; these words will not love. These words will not show me the linning in the universe skimming the edge of better places or more peaceful nights. These words will not show, will not show me light. These words are elusive and they leave such a pugnant sent behind while they dance away from the tips of my fingers as I am reaching out. These words do not show love nor do they care that I am searching for a meaning. A meaning in them, about them, for them. I am searching.