The words are still there, you know. Inside me. Straining to be set free. Yearning to serve their only purpose. To be heard.
Slamming into walls that I've slapped together. Testing. Practicing. Staying ready. Staying patient.
How much would it cost me, I wonder, to just let them out? So many would tell me - have told me - that I have nothing to lose. Nothing left to lose.
But what would the words say? Would their screams be in joy or in sorrow or in anger? Or, perhaps, a mixture of all three? I know only that they would be loud; beyond that I cannot predict. These words, they reside in my heart, not my brain, and my heart is a mystery even to me, these days.
To be so wonderfully right, and so incredibly wrong, about the only thing that has ever mattered to me. It's a wonder that I'm not crazy. Not really crazy, I mean. Oh, I have my moments when people might fling that label at me to see if it sticks, but I know better.
Can the truth ever be crazy?
Perhaps I, too, simply landed too soon.