When words appear in your head but stop before reaching your mouth.
When words form in your heart but stop before you type onto an empty page.
When words flow down your arm as it reaches for a pen but the ink runs dryer than the Sahara desert.
Pencils-permanent markers-spray paint-calligraphy nib-felt tip-crayons—maybe your Smith Corona—your Royal—Underwood typewriter. Dig out the Apple word processor, dust it off and remove the garage sale sticker before you burst into tears. The keys are stuck and the cords are tangled.
|That's me waving from the station |
but this picture is over ten years old.
When words don’t mean anything and there’s nothing to say and even if you could stand atop a roof and scream at the top of your vocal chords, the words would sound garbled and stupid. Though you’d get something out—a frail sound—a squeak—a grunt—a painful sigh—you’d still be misunderstood--like a Tower of Babel without a cause--because-- sometimes there are no words.