Sharing experience – love, fear, despair, faith, light, and hope
TRAVEL. And life came to claim the skeleton body of letters to transform them back into words
I got lost for(word)s – love lost in travel, travel lost in you. And the space between the distance was captured in a distant photograph woven into the framework of my mind.
The ink dried out since New York – Faith – and you. But, I just picked up the pen today and somehow, it starting writing again. My heart finds comfort in that.
It bled on that flight – 12 hours straight – the pen, that is. It colored the turquoise journal you purchased all shades of red. Through prose, incoherently structured sentences (I’d like to call fragmented verbose), they told the story of you and I. The mirror reflection of every perfect imperfection (deeply rooted and situated in the center of my heart).
That flight was martyrdom.
The entire alphabet stood witness that day. I couldn’t write after that. At least, consistently, or about you, or about anything that concerns me without it reflecting back images projected by you. I couldn’t write long enough before closing the page. The effort was blotted by marks of dried up ink coughing up blood.
Writing as therapy faded me.
The letters grew restless. They weren’t accustomed to such depth in experience, without expression that is. The burning desire to be reborn into words left them swirling like dervishes in figure 8’s. Hanging paralyzed in a vortex unchanging – – they did not understand. Void in meaning, they no longer could see how cohesive forces could possibly move them into expansion and merge them into flawless composition ever again. They were, just isolated letters after all.
Long forgotten that an energetic thumbprint was embedded vibrationally with each form. Long forgotten that the essence of dancing sentences was a blend of individual wholes. But time heals all wounds. There is a lot of wisdom in that.
Oh! Children of the Alphabet, don’t curse time. For I AM Time.
You too will give birth to anew.
