I bow reverently to the magic of words, for I feel their power.
They tease me and tickle my funny bone. At times words tiptoe across my brain and at others, they beat their drums and play their trombones like a collegiate marching band through my cranium.
One, carefully chosen and standing alone, can have an immense impact.
Two, standing side by side, holding hands and working together can bring delight, break hearts, deliver kindness, or unleash one’s deepest fury.
Many, combined with heartfelt emotion and a pinch of honesty have the power to ignite emotion, stir the imagination and spark a connection with the deepest part of the soul…ahh, the magic.
From these tiny building blocks emerge the world’s greatest stories and sonnets, memoirs and mysteries. They give rise to school notes that make little hearts flutter when asked to check the box “yes” or “no”; They are the vows we write to our beloved and eulogies we woefully deliver to our departed.
They have my deepest respect.
And suddenly it struck me. All these words living inside of me…they are my story; They are my memories; They are my imagination, my hopes, my dreams, my fears, trying to be heard. To be understood.
Upon this realization, my cheeks burned hot and my pulse quickened. I know no one else’s story but my own and perhaps it is asking to be told. I know the threads of my past but I have never woven them together to create the tapestry of my life. It is time. I reach out my hands and ask the words to come, to allow me to seek and discover the underlying stories and memories that sleep deep within me – the things that connect my past to my present, that make me, me. I can’t promise it won’t be messy. I’ve never attempted this feat before. But, perhaps it will spark something within those who reads it. And that makes every word worth it.
Yours till butter flies.
