The Spaces Between My Words And My Silence
sometimes it was enough to hold it, even if it could never truly be mine. to flip through the stained pages, fingertips brushing each separate vertebrae of it’s spine, catching the brief sensation of reflection in the letters as they pass. it was enough to let my heavy eyes close and see, using every sense but one. i would catch myself surrendering control to the inked words weaving stories that would reverberate in my mind for countless days to come. the abandon, however unfamiliar, was much needed. the cobwebs hanging from my eyelashes could stay for once, because it didn’t care any more than i did. i could exhale, only vaguely concerned, and let the turbulence shake the ground without restraint. my shackles wouldn’t disappear but their presence became increasingly insignificant. for once i wasn’t these tired limbs, heavy and stumbling beneath the pressure. i could vacate that aching frame, watch everything evaporate into the crisp autumn air, and listen.