Sometimes, there are so many words inside of my head, I feel like I might explode. I have poems, and stories, vivid memories and hazy images, all scrambling to escape.
Sometimes, those words hit my soul.
Ocean.
Water.
Waves.
Salt.
Floating. Adrift. Endless.
Sometimes, I write about the sea
Sometimes, I don't know how to say what I want to say.
Honest? Hurtful? Unfiltered? Blunt? Brutal?
Softened? Eased? Semi-true?
I don't know where my inspiration comes from. My Rockstar Neurosurgeon has been inside my head. Has he met my Muse? Does he know where the ideas hide? Where they develop? How they are born?
Sometimes, the words burn inside of me. An inferno of rage. A conflagration consuming me from deep inside.
Hot.
Hateful.
Unkind.
The worst parts, burned beyond ugliness. Too charred to share.
Sometimes, the thoughts fly out of my head. Too jumbled, bursting forth like starlings flying together and apart as if of one mind. Flying is better than falling. Few things are better than flying. Flying is freedom. Falling is inevitable. Falling is fate, for all of us, eventually.
Sometimes, the words are the most important thing in the world.
Sometimes, they are just words.
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