From Mind to Hand

Tue, 05/28/2013 - 13:30 -- NyeraM

Location

30331
United States
33° 41' 54.834" N, 84° 32' 35.4732" W

The words could never reach her hand.
As hard as she tried, she could never put her thoughts on paper.
They ran about, fleeting as a dove, whirling about like an autumn wind.
Grasping and holding tight, she snatched the words she wished to use to compose a work of nouns, verbs, gerunds and infinitives.
But they could never reach her hand.
Those words, those damnable words!
Holding her hand to paper, poised to write a symphony of lyrical prose but the lexis that twirled about her psyche could never reach her fingers.
They stayed right there in her mind, taunting and cruel, as if to spite her.
She wanted to write an inspired verse; so beautiful, so suspenseful, so powerful, so cruel, and release it upon the sheet like a river that has broken its dam.
The images of the words she wish to expel flowed like a movie though her mind, ever-changing like the thoughts of a child.
Blades clashing, sweet kisses, forgotten lore and haunting beauty; these were what the words displayed and she wishes for them to take others to a far away place.
Almost as if spirited away.
Oh how she wished for the words to be read like the words that captured her eyes, the words that her eyes greedily ate at the moment of display.
Like an addict, the itch to write was always there, calling to her, its whispers as soft as a white cloud, its pain as sharp and swift as a Japanese sword.
But those words would not touch her hand.
She thought sadly “Did the words lose their meaning when they strike the page? Do they disappear forever from my mind so they may be forever confined to the whiteness of the thesis that I wish to record?”
The words respond “We are transient to the world; lasting a short while and lose our meaning over time until we no exist.”
“But you exist inside me! In my mind and in my heart! You words are a part of my soul that I wish to expose to the world and your meaning will never be lost to me! So why, why won’t you come out; rest upon this leaf of parchment as a singular procession of what I wish to express,” She cried.
The words grew angry “The works of Hypatia, Aristotle and Poe, they wrote words of greatness, placing a part of their soul upon the papyrus. But now, many are now lost and those that are with us now, have lost their significance. We, the words that dance about your mind, we do not wish for the same fate. We want to stay forever with you.”
“Nothing is forever,” she said “For even eternity has an end. But you must flow, flow into my hand, even if you lose your importance as soon as touch this blank page, is it not worth it if even one person reads you, hears you, understand and be in awe of you?”
The words were silent.
Placing her pen back to page, she waited for the words to leave from the boundary of her conscience, and waited patiently ….
She began to write.

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