I’ve always loved words.
As a child, my parents used to give my word games to keep me occupied. I’d always try and follow through but, inevitably, I would get lost within the stories that would come pouring out of my imagination, straining to run once they were given the chance to break free. I suppose, in some aspects, my parents were more successful in their attempts.
Later on I found my escape in words. Whether streaming on a page, flowing through lyrics, or being brought to life through actors in scenes, words continued to touch and shape my inner world and filling it to the brim with colours and sights fantastical. Ironically, my own words started to grow silent as life and circumstance taught me the safety in silence. Honestly, who was I too care, it was loud enough in my head without increasing it through my own voice.
Isn’t it true, as we grow older we all learn how violent words can be to the soul when handled maliciously or without care? Words, once a friend, became a foe, and my spirit shrank as people used their words to attack my faith, my abilities, and my soul until I could no longer tell if there was anything left of myself left to salvage or the validity of trying to salvage in the first place.
It’s funny the effect of words.
Even now as I do attempt to salvage and rebuild, grabbing a scrap of colour from here, some joy from there, and clumsily trying to wrap it in hope I recognize my own inadequacy for the task. After all, I didn’t build myself, I am created and I need the creator to restore what was broken.