Words

Words are the only comfort in this solitude. I have so much to say, I want to pack all the thoughts swirling in my head in this room. But there's no one to listen to these obscure letters and sounds. So, I twist them around and shape them, wrapping them around my tongue like they're the most succulent of flavors. Sometimes, I believe I can make the world change and morph, sparking with new thought and colors more vibrant than the sun. But, when there is only silence all around me, echoing like a stark canyon in the breeze, I feel the stillness. The words choke in my throat, lump like clumps of sand in my hand, fade like the sun in mourning. I can feel the cold then, spreading from my toes to the tips of my fingers, tingling and stinging like tears on my raw, red cheeks. like icicles freezing in the frigid air. Why can we not go back to the time when our vocabulary was not limited by slang and abbreviations, when poetry was in every syllable like the sweetest scent of honeysuckle in the humid, sticky summer air? Maybe someday, people will talk like they enjoy every word. Making art in their phrases, building sculptures with their voices, or drowning out the static silence with their crescendo of adjectives. I feel the words on my lips, moist and sweet like fresh rain water. It is only time until i find the strength to let them out.

.. leena