“They’ve said and written grand, wonderful things. I hope you get to read and hear all of them, because there’s something so special in that experience, in falling in love with words. Feeling them like fluttering butterflies beneath your skin. Like whirlwinds in your head. Like a punch to the gut.”
― Fredrik
Backman, Things My Son Needs to Know About The World
Words have always worked for me. Things I said. Things I wrote.
And I got so used to it working for me. I took it for granted.
Over the
years, things that needed to be said and written kept growing. The words kept
flowing at a much faster pace that my mind couldn’t keep up with.
Flowing almost became forcing.
I mostly
found myself filled with bursting words and that became a consistent part of my existence.
Some of it found a voice in this world to heal while some created rifts.
Some of it resonated differently and some of it was disregarded.
Certain words arrived too swiftly, leaving insufficient time for the various faculties of the brain to process them, akin to the sudden impact of a massive wave that nearly engulfs you during a leisurely moment at sea.
In recent years, I've struggled with what I once thought was my inherent strength – the art of words. Along this journey, my expression has morphed into a silence embraced, where the unspoken carries its weight.
Tensions linger in the restraint, yet within this quietude, a newfound serenity has gently become my companion.
But I promise to not let these go to waste. My words will find their way and the voice will emerge.
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