Lately I’ve been trying to translate my words into feelings while still in my head. There are selfish reasons for that. My mind is a chatty seamstress; when I leave it alone, it weaves words effortlessly. Gowns of prose, embellishments of thought. When I try to put those words down, make them physical, too often the fabric unravels.
It’s a challenge to be a human loom. Much easier to be a vessel, to let the emotions fill me up and spill over, surely?
Either way, I am the middleman. An instrument. I just want to be a good one.