cavatica

Understand something about me:

I NEED words.

I need them. I need words like leaves need light for sugar. They are all that is constant and loyal in my life. I don't recall learning them-- they have always been. They keep me awake at night: scrolling words, pulsing words, throbbing, aching, seething words on my tongue and in my ears... I can't hold them all, there are just too many, and I could know all the languages in all the world and there would still be too few words.

So they spill out sometimes-- sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes muddled and entwined. I can't account for why. But if I overflow in front of you-- if I come at you in a flood of strange verbosity, if I indulge in breathless paragraphs of insolent cliches, please understand: it's nothing personal. It will probably pass. But I need them, in all their candied purples or slashing, gutteral reds; all the -nesses and -osities and -ages; all the warped inventions I contrive to try and capture whatever inarticulations are burning at my skull.

You don't have to do it, too. You don't have to get it. You don't even have to like it. But I will not apologize for all my burgeoning words, the only children I will ever want. They're all that's real and certain for me; they're all I can bring myself to love.