Language is funny. Words come and go and what I'm left with are silent moments of self exploration through mute breaths and mute vision. I write poems, one after another, but they always fail me. I'm like a tattered piece of cloth. I have used myself to clean rusty shelves where I have been stacking memories. I have used myself to mop the floor where I had bled nestling my empty skull. I have even used it to create delicious recipes for destruction. Then I have kept it at the back of a pile of unused fabric, hiding it from plain view. These days, I feel like taking this ragged self out of that mound and mending all the holes. I will, in fact, I have already started this new project. But this time, I am my own project. I matter, and there's no other way I can say this. So, I have decided to write myself love letters from now on. I am going to tell myself how much I love me summoning all the language I have at my disposal. I will take each day and turn them into symphonies of words. I will come back home not to wipe other beings and other things; I'll return to my nest and tend to my wings. I'll bathe myself in sweet nothings pouring from the tips of my fingers. Someday, I'm going to be the only one. Till then, I will write myself love letters.
YOU ARE READING
Reincarnation
Non-FictionThis is my journey back to myself. Life has not been easy for the most part, and this is me trying my best to both vent and understand myself through language.
