If you wake up in the middle of the night and see me furiously typing at 3 in the morning, then something is wrong. Because of my inability to find the right worlds to fall through my mouth and because of my pride in my ability to find the right words on paper, I resort to what I take pride in. These words have seen my shaking hands, cold and clammy from emotion. They have listened to my stifled cries when I don’t want to wake up the world. They have felt my frustration when I was torn between my ego and leaping into a void. From my mind to paper, I’m temporarily relieved from the demons of my mind and instead, I’m drawn to how I’m able to copy and paste my emotional turmoil for you. My eyes are weary and my mind is tired from constantly having to fight myself. How is it that I’m able to find the right keys to hit to create sentences that somehow translate to my pain? Through laughter, I’m able to capture the crows feet, the parenthesis around the mouth and transform the supposed cackle into a whisper among the trees. Through tears, I’m able to capture the ugly sniffing and the empty soul and grant hope to my reader. I can create worlds and partners that aren’t bound by the social constructs of time and sink myself into these characters. For a brief moment, my 3AM words relieve me of aches and what ifs and I can close my eyes and rest until day breaks when I’m forced to step out of my mind and begin building the ladder down to Earth.
Written: 1/2/17 2:00am