Words, words, words. To you they may simply be letters tied together on a page. Holding very little significance, only being a must in your rushing of every day life; I have to sign this, read this, jot this down.
But to me they are so much more. They are a melody ever ringing in my ears. A soundtrack to my life. My past, my present, and my future all strung together. Playing like a symphony. I feel the beat of each word in my heart. I hear the strum of the truth deep in my soul from the whispering of the words. With each Key stroke of a word that is played I feel the pain of the past, the joy of the present, the anticipation of the future.
I feel alive when I write. I feel whole. My body relaxes, pain goes away, and the words, they simply flow. They come out like therapy for my broken heart. A healing balm for the wounded soul.
Words may be an insignificant part of your day but they are life to me.
I have spent too many days neglecting the life they bring to me. Too many days trying to do more and be the right person.Too many years running, running from the words which complete me. Even as I sit here now with a hot cup of Irish tea, my thinking music playing and feeling the joy of the Lord enter my heart with each word; even now, I feel I should be reading, I should be in bed, I should be folding laundry. Anything but allowing the words to create a melody.
And why? Why do I deny my passion? Why do I think I need to fit into a cookie cutter mold? Why is writing the first thing I push away? Why do I fear what writing could mean?
How I can I deny the gift of my soul in the form of words upon a page? I fear if I continue to do so, I will be no more. A shell of me, a shell of who I have been created to be.
You see, words may be an insignificant part of your day but they are my own special melody; a melody that only plays as each word I write touches the page.