Friday, December 9, 2011


I suddenly just realized how much i'd like you to read my words. maybe thats the real bridge between us. my words reveal the real me, they're what i live with. and yet you've never built that ship to understand them. to you i really am i foreigner. I'm like this strange artifact you don't quite understand. i seem so distant, so out of touch with reality, and it frustrates you because you don't understand where all the passion goes. you don't see that canvas where i spill my words out. maybe thats been our problem all along. you don't know me, but only because you can't. only because i write words in a foreign language, and you wish i spoke in yours. i don't know why this is how i found a connection to writing, i don't know why my own language never spoke to me as loudly as this one, but this one taught me how to love, and how to fall too, it taught me all the emotions and all the facts. i was bound from then on. you don't chose them, they chose you. your words come and find you, and then they take you away. you're like a prisoner trapped on a journey, they don't let go of you, you have to follow them, you have to trust them to take you wherever they lead. that's such a beautiful image. they hold your hand, they tell you that it's alright, that you'll understand soon, that you're not really meant for this world, that you're not cut out for it, you're here for a different purpose. you have to translate life into words, you have to remind people how to feel. the day my words found me i was bound, i was in love, i was safe. i knew i could trust them. they spoke to me in a language i understood. i became a fairy, not belonging to this world but crafting my own. i used fireflies as light and made out footsteps into the jungle. now i was home.

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