To read something over and over, to weave it into the quotidian quotations of your life.
Till one day the words embed themselves among the crevices of your beautiful mind.
Till the first glance of the last word, or any word at all, spins forward still, lines upon lines of borrowed words, succeeding in reprimanding when you fail you.
To find within this chaos of words, verbs, conjugations, and grammar, inspiration in the borrowed pain, and harrowed hearts.
To find melancholy so pure, its uncanniness never unimpressed upon you.
But also, in its rarer deep impressions, to find that borrowed words may carry with itself, flights of follies you never phantom.
To find ‘vicarity’ even within the splintered confines of your extant.
These borrowed words I read over and over again, till the indigo blue stains I carry perpetually like my finger-tips. These borrowed words I use when my own fail me.
To find such joy in consuming the curlicues of expendable pain and joy and other sensitivities unbeknownst to any soul; to have it weave itself into the quotidian quotations of you life.
~So grateful for all the wonderful wordsmiths, artists, painters, and creators of words in my life whose art whether displayed through published works, blogposts, emails, letters, or even post-its 😉 continue to inspire me, and make my life multidimensional and that much more bearable. For that Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!~