for a writer, words are a saviour

for some time, i was lost

i was in a cold mess of memories, of feelings and here, everything was wrong and in pieces. i couldn’t get a grip on my thoughts, my emotions

each step forward was a thousand backwards. every turn was to emptiness. i was looking deeper, looking further something to escape this whatever this was but i couldn’t find anything. except, sharp edges and red darkness. red cold darkness that screeched in sorrow. and i was struggling against emotions i couldn’t name. it felt hollow, a bit like loneliness, parts like sad and excruciatingly familiar like home. it felt uncomfortable and my heart ached for something but I didn’t know what it was. and i kept searching –when it found me

It was a like a song drifting into the breeze, like a fading old picture

it was words

they filled the darkness in warmth and light and finally,

I could grip myself and make sense of everything

it was sunlight streaming through seams, it was words that washed like honey and I was drenched in a warmth I couldn’t describe

it was enlightening, felt beautiful and

I found power in my bones, in my myself -

and I walked and there it was

the pen and page were waiting for me and I picked the pen and like a lover,

an old friend

strangely familiar yet foreign

the words came to me

and

I

wrote

everything,

all I couldn’t say

all couldn't explain

and though pieces still didn't really make any sense

no matter how I read it,

it felt so right

for some time, I was lost and I still am but I think

I am nearly there

(whatever there is )