Words


Writing, writing, writing. Today the words won't stop. I went to bed writing. I went to bed with a headache. I woke up to stories. I woke up to a headache.

My journal, lying on the floor, still open to the page I fell a sleep to. A different story this time.
Beginning.
Middle.
End.
The more I write one story the more another one sneaks in.
Intertwines.
Dances.
Leaves.
Woven and read.
Dog-eared and paper cut.
The words will not stop.
I want to be outside. I want to be jogging, to be enjoying the world. I want to bring silence to these words. But when I motion to leave they scream out at me. Calling me back to the fold.
Child's pose.
Wrapped in my blanket, a tent to keep out the light.
Memories.
My childhood.
A home I can't go back to.
Words, more stories.
These stories are not mine, and yet they come to me as if they were my own memories. I push them back. The headache continues. Pulsing. Pounding at my head.
Work.
My brain is fighting my imagination.
Deadlines.
I cringe.
The internal battle inside my head is raging on.
The battle cries.

The vote.
I wait for the results, like the rest of the world. Baited breath and secretly hoping. Hoping that one nation chooses to stop hanging the world on a hook.
Powerless.
Give me writing materials and leave me on an island. Or a cave in a third world. I will write of things important. Things that matter.
In time I may use the pages for fire kindling. Burning the words that scorch my mind.

False promises.
I have learned my lesson.
To be silent.
Steps up to the top must be done in silence.
Quiet.
They must take place during the night while the world is sleeping.
No one should know that you are attempting to step past them.
A whisper, will wake them.
A sleeping giant pulling your at your ankles, and destroying the very ladder you climb.
Lessons learned.

And the words continue...