Words

And the words, they began to flow.

I used to write.  When I was a kid, I wrote stories and poems - I loved to write. Back when I had no inhibitions, no worries, no structure - just words to release.

image from http://www.ling.gu.se/~sylvana/images/pen.jpg&imgrefurl

But they went away.

They peaked shyly out of their hiding place briefly when I studied journalism. Nouns, verbs, twirling with ecstasy until they were sick with dizzy.  But then real life crashed down, crushing those lovely words.

Until recently.

You see, the words never really left.  They were there, pecking at my brain, hurting, bruising black and blue.  A caged bird needing to fly through azure and cotton puffs.  The muse was in hibernation.  For a long time.  Because I wasn't ready.

About a year ago, I started journaling again.  Shyly.  Tentatively.  And I hid it.

And so it began like a gentle drizzle lightly coating the grass.  Slowly picking up speed. Then the clouds opened and the grass began to sway and sink into the drenched ground unable to hold the downpour.

Those words that had been in my head for years, rattling around with no place to go, those words were begging to be released.  To the clean paper.  So I let them go.  And then more came.  Begging.  And they were released too.  Until I was writing.  All the time. In notebooks.  On my phone.  In the car.  At a restaurant.  In my head. On vacation.  In my brain.  In my sleep.

The words, they began to flow.

And I felt lighter, not being weighed down by boulders.