A Moment of Honesty

An excerpt from the pages of my personal diary. 

What do you call a writer who can no longer find the right words or any words for that matter? A writer who has lost her words has lost herself.

For as long as I can remember I have always had words. Whether written or spoken, right or wrong, soft or severe; I have always had them and they have always been powerful. I have always loved them and the way they sounded, looked and felt. My world of words has always been unbiased. It included books, notepaper, screens, mouths–any canvas or medium necessary to convey what one so desperately needed to convey.

My favorite words came from the mouth of my mother. Whether or not they were hers was inconsequential, once she spoke them she took ownership. I have always found truth in the quote "The pen is mightier than the sword," because while other forms of weaponry can kill the body, words possess the remarkable ability to hurt the heart, maim the mind, and scar the soul. 

Words are immortal, but somewhere along the way I have misplaced mine and in doing so misplaced myself. I cannot decipher if they were stolen by a scorned love, silenced by mundane military life, or smothered by stress, but as each word wilts away, so do I. 

I need them back.



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