richard_

Writing writing writing.

I miss it. Miss turning letters into words... words into sentences... and sentences into dreams. Writing calms me while it also sets ablaze. I like words. Quite actually love them. There are moments in my life when every word that comes out of my mouth seems to come entirely from somewhere else. As if playing on a screen somewhere. Already acted. Already thought out. Each one hand selected to mean even more than the one i've said before. Words to me are flowers. Trinkets. Drops of pure and precious gold. Gifts if you like. To be given to those i know and often love.

I would be lost without them. Adrift in seas of wordless woe. But thankfully they come to me. Quite often if you please. Like pedals to the surface, leaves fallen from the trees.

So as the rain does fall outside my window, and the thunder rumbles by, my eyes now close at first to darkness, but soon shall open once again.. to bright and sunny skies.