These are the words that keep me up at night.
These are the thoughts that never leave the back of my mind; they whisper to me as I walk down the street, in the background of lyrics of songs that I listen to, from the train tracks, from the rooftops, from the swish-swish of coats as the pass by me, the tap-tap of canes and walkers, the clickety-clack of stiletto heels, the whine of jet engines and the revving of an F1 beast starting off at the track.
These are the primal things.
I will never be able to say them aloud. My voice wasn’t meant to utter them–I am not brave enough. But I hear them. I feel them. I think them. These are mine and they are of me.
They are me.
In my rawest, most unrefined, and purest form.
These words are me.