Words. Too many. Where were the words, the right ones, when they were being called back to the yard? Hiding in the treetops or under the foundation walls?
It was quicker to swallow the words that came, but not easier, and assuredly not satisfying. Or empty them out over everything.
They were knives to slice and stab; spoons to dig, overturn, and mix. So much cutlery, clanging.
Except … sometimes.
Sometimes they were right for a moment when the right words were needed. Unrehearsed, freed expressions finding escape from webs.
In those times, the right words held power to heal, to explore.
And when the words left, so did their power, only much more slowly and a few laps behind. They now linger at the edges, but as tired memories, lucky and leaden both. The rants, arguments, and rehashings are now reduced to what they always were: mere distractions from what was and is real.
But the words, their potential…oh. And, I have the luxury of keeping the ones I need, dare say, want.
The right words still taste of sweet poetry and play melodies in my ears, occasionally harmonies; these words I deserve to keep dear, even though that is the only choice available.