Intriguing, intruding thoughts once kept me captive all night.
My muses, the words, came and woke me, shook me awake begging me to tell their story, showcase their lives, their meaning, the places they've been and where the will never go.
Their hand, I, penned and edited until their story came out, until I was confident once they were devoured they would be swiftly sewn into memories with their quick wit and biting repertoire.
I sat to the side, a fraud, taking credit for their masterpiece.
I am just the lowly writer, the conductor, but the words, these words that demand my attention are the story, they create the music of our very lives.
Simply sated to be allowed entrance to their show.
Once I foolishly wandered around with the words, their livelihoods, their meaning in mouth.
I nearly choked on the sugary, sweet reminiscence of many of these words being used to soothe souls for generations upon generations.
Savoring the sour memories of these words.
The times when people whipped them out and threw them at another like a dagger, cutting deeply and precisely, while cruely keeping the victim alive to relive the attack and lick their wounds for the rest of their lives.
The overwhelming power of what a word can convey was too thick for my glassjaw.
They, the words, jumbled in my mouth, humbling my pride, and hurting my teeth.
They gnashed against one another, trying to abdicate any power or defining moment of themselves.
Asking, declaring, nay, begging in a defeating deafening voice to be used properly or left alone for good!
No longer being able to take their power, refusing to be their prisoner, I ran to my desk and dared to spit them out, one by one.
Viciously at first, like one trying to get the taste of cod liver oil expunged from the memory of their poor taste buds.
Then as the words filed out, finally no longer fighting, lining up precisely and coming together for the story they've been meaning to tell, their debut moment that I promised to create for them, I slowed with expelling them.
As the scribble of my pen slowed I found myself nearly sad.
I gently put the last word down, caressing it with a whisper of love, and realized that the puzzle had been put together.
Completely, beautifully and with a tinge of sadness only finality can bring.
With the words finally at peace, no longer demanding attention or vying for refuge, I found myself captive again.
Wondering where they will go now, who they will visit, wondering if they will capture someone elses attention as well as they did mine.
Wondering if more troublesome words will find me, plague me and make me do their bidding and tell their stories.
Dear God, I hope so.
Thank you for stopping by for todays Sunday Confession that is hosted by the one and only Hot Ash from More Than Cheese And Beer .
Weekly Hot Ash releases the prompt on Wednesday so bloggers who would like to join in and interpret it whichever way they wish can post by Sunday.
Please do yourself a favor and stop by the link up and check out her confession and the other wonderful bloggers who joined in today.