There are times when my words are on my side, offering themselves to me at just the right moment in a proud, sacrificial gesture.
Then there are times when my words run away, turning around only to stick out their tongues.
A few of the more rebellious ones even give me the finger.
And across the haze I see Anxiety, my sworn enemy, looking all smug as the words line up, one by one, behind her. A few of the gentler words peek out at me sheepishly, looking a bit ashamed at their newfound allegiance. But I know it’s not really their fault. I don’t blame them.
I know I drove them to her.
It’s times like these that I sit, my heart ready to burst with emotions and ideas and stories . . .
But no words with which to share them.