All I Need

I was told to write,

not knowing that 

with each stroke of my pen

with each string of sentences, 

I was becoming myself. 

I was told to read

and I devoured the ink

on the soft, yellowing pages. 

The images played behind my eyelids 

as I fed my hunger for knowledge. 

And now, I was told to tell

of what I need. 

Simply, I need myself. 

I have an unquenchable thirst 

for my memories. 

To relive the scenes found 

on pages of paper. 

I do not need the tanglible

I need words.