I’ll settle into these words as if I myself is the ink staining the paper. I will let them flow through me like the blood in my veins. And they will open every door within me. I will touch every wall they build and I will live in them. And they will put air under my failing feet. They will be the age in my bones, the wisdom at my tongue, and the mercy in my chest. They will be my courage and my retreat; the greener grass on the other side, the flame to a candle wick, and I’ll need them as just that.
These words will be remembering and forgetting. They’ll be yesterday, today, and perhaps tomorrow. And I’ll let them be. They will haunt me until I place them to gracefully dance across this paper. And I will be lonely no more. To peace and piece of mind and everything that falls in-between.
I will let these words put things where they belong.