I don't know where my words went. They just got up one day and left me. Not even out of my fingertips but just dropped out from the bottom of my guts, slurped up into some unseen void deep below me.
At first, I told myself I'd shed some ego. That was partly true. Also true was the fact that I'd gained some new padding to replace what I'd shed. I'd reversed up one path to walk down another alongside it.
But then I would go into the forest and they'd come back. My words would start floating towards me from somewhere inside the tree canopy, and nestle themselves into my head, winding around and around in circles like a dog finding the best position for sleeping. Maybe that's it - maybe they've just gone dormant and wake up when absolutely necessary. Genius is a luxury.
My words are the opposite of light sleepers. When it's quiet, they rise. When it's chaotic and loud and all the lights are on, they slumber.
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