“Words”

Words—

we once were acquainted.
You lived on the tip of my tongue,
quick as lightning,
faithful as breath.

But today—
today I struggle.
I dig through the crevices of my mind
like a miner in a dark cave,
searching for that one,
two,
maybe three syllables
that could connect me
to the world outside my chest.

Once, you flowed like rivers—
clear, unbroken,
carrying my thoughts from my brain to page,
from page to people,
from people to love.

Now you scatter like birds startled mid-flight.
You hide behind shadows,
behind fog,
behind the cruel silence that mocks me
when I open my mouth.

My eyes begin to dance 

searching for words as 

each letter grabs another

to create words. 

And I wonder—
how do you lose a word,
who lived inside you?
How do you misplace
the very bridge
that once carried your voice?

I stumble over sentences,
trip on phrases,
reach out only to grasp air.
And the silence,
it grows heavier—
a weight pressing on my ribs,
daring me to stop trying.

But I won’t.
Even if I have to build you back
one brick of sound at a time,
even if the syllables stutter and break,
I will keep reaching for you.
Because, Words,
you may have left me wandering—
but I still believe in our reunion.
I still believe
that somewhere inside the maze of my memory
you are waiting—
like an old friend at the end of the street,
hands open,
saying,
“I’m still here!”

*Words” (original 1982) by F.R. David