My Writings

The Voice

Incalculable hours, poured into the pit of learning – learning to speak. The fruit of vigor, its juices painting my voice like blood makes a face bloom in emotion, squeezed by the clenching of my fist. All of that, so that I can become a voice in the desert.

What I have to say is important, I’m telling you. Very valuable, highly significant. Are you listening? Why don’t I speak plainly, you ask, like a human being? That is hard when you are so elevated, you see, it drives one to speak in riddles. What sense does that make? Don’t ask me.

Today, my voice is heard clearly only for a moment, before it dies out again. What is heard in the chamber of the heart, a secret convened only once, can never be repeated. Mistakes accumulate and multiply, walling you in. Tired feet, climbing up – all effort is only preparation for the next step, all turmoil, hunger, anger – their entire family, only a fleeting memory once the leap is made. But, until then, well, until then…

Every day, upon waking up, until you fall asleep, sharpen your hearing at the whetstone. Someone might come, something might happen. Soon you find yourself tossed in all directions, in a sea of people, all driven and propelled by the world. To act. Fish in water, unaware, animated, yourself among them.

Let me tell you who I am. Not my name, it is only a fiction, but my nature. I am the running to the door for a last goodbye, sending away what should have been, now far in the distance, heart beating like a war drum, yet screeching like a frightened animal. Now that opportunity is gone, freedom reigns.

You see?


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