Inception

Flexible Force

Caught, captured within the grasp of an unknown,
captivating force as it cries, screams, whispers
quietly uttering its concealed mourning, its vehement
joy, this powerful display shaking, soaking,
overwhelming with persistent consistency, steadily
dripping, constant taunt, enraging reminder of such
small force, drenching, hiding within a clouded
mist as step by step it spreads across, throughout,
underneath, within, heating chilled skin with lost
sunbeams shining through trembling rainbows,
forgotten writing of a foreign language, spoken
by the clouds, the sun, the drip, drip, dripping.

Empty

Writing

“That's what I love about writing. Once you get the words down on paper, in print, they start to make sense. It's like you don't know what you think until it dribbles from your brain down your arm and into your hand and out through your fingers and shows up on the computer screen, and you read it and realize: That's really true; I believe that.” 

- Ellen Wittlinger, Hard Love

Dreamers

"All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act 
their dream with open eyes to make it possible." 

- T.E. Lawrence

Strength in Whispers

"Sometimes we lack the strength to communicate the things that matter and we end up whispering the things we want to shout."

Climber

Silent Whispers

"We tell ourselves stories in order to live."

The White Album by Joan Didion

Fading Glimmers

I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.

On Keeping a Notebook in Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion

Then one day you look in the rearview mirror of your existence and realize that you can see clear down the hill-less and curveless and bridgeless road of your life, straight to the maternity ward where you were born. And then you go to college. Where your bland past meekly follows, sluggishly scraping its feet on the floor.

I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley

Waiting, Watching the Sky

Some say they feel it in their mouth, welling up, overwhelming. I feel it in the heart - a steady ache, a dull burning, a swelling emptiness, not of loss, but of longing, of dreams yearning to be fulfilled. I've said goodbye so many times. Why am I always on this side of the screen? Someday, I will soar as my heart is pierced with fierce anticipation - no more anxious jealousy. Someday, I too will leap from within the wings of home and fly away. Someday, I will join the masses and follow in the direction my hand has so often waved. Finally free. Free to pursue, to watch, to dream, and to wonder.