“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 ...