If I bare my soul, will you listen or reject my two cents? Will you hang on to every word I say or take them for nonsense?
Am I a complete fool to share the secrets I’ve only told the moon? What’s in it for me to give you the power to know me better than I do?
I’ve not gone mad yet, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll lose my sanity in these scripts ten times over until you hear what I have to say.
Navigating this strange world—I haven’t quite figured out how. If my words are to be preserved for posterity, tell me, do they mean something to you now?
Who I am today or what I could become, I may never know. They say my curious mind renders me naive, still, down the rabbit hole I must go.
If this fall is to ever end, will I find the answers I seek, in Wonderland?
And if I look at the world through Alice’s eyes, will I too in the end, stop dreaming and open mine?
Her mind is blank, but if these walls could talk for her, only then might you fathom the extent of her suffering. In the dead of night, they watch as she wakes gasping for air as if a cinder block has come crashing down onto her chest. While on solid ground she’s falling, losing her grip by the second, slipping farther while her aching fingertips are desperately trying to hold on.
Wandering aimlessly, she hasn’t a clue what she’s searching for. She’s trapped in a mirror maze of pure nothingness, accompanied only by several of her own helpless reflections staring back at her. She scours every corner, but amidst the flashing lights she’s lost all sense of direction.
The walls of this glass box she’s in cave, and through the thickening air she screams, yet nobody can hear her. All that’s on the tip of her tongue is the saltiness of her tears. She’s tormented by the the deafening silence inside her head.
What a beautiful tragedy it is for a writer’s heart to carve its own wounds. She lies awake on nights like these, tossing and turning, listening for distant murmurs. The closer they get, the clearer they sound and she can begin to slowly stitch her heart back together.
She remains restless until her heart is woven by the strings of all the words she’s for so long been trying to find. The mere presence of a single thought reinvigorates her entire being. At last she can breathe again.
~~~
As this final day of August was nearing, I feared I had nothing to say. I was experiencing the most intensely horrifying feeling any writer could have: writer’s block. I always thought there was no feasible way to put in to words the feeling of not knowing what to write about, as someone it should come so easily to. But, I thought, what if there was? And so, as I lay restless in bed one late night, I typed a list of words to describe all that I was feeling: panic, confusion, frustration, and so on. In doing so, suddenly my mind was filled with constellations of letters forming all the right words to give you this melodramatic tale.
》 Faith It ‘til You Make It 《 