I have thoughts I want to say, but the words lack the emotion that should be behind them, and they ring as hollow as a dead log long consumed by rot and decay. The words I want to pour out of me like water are as stagnant, stale, and musty as a puddle hidden from the sun for days upon days.
All the words I want to say before their memory fades away into a cloud of dust, blown from my mind during its next clean-up. Words about love, words about grief, words about smiles, laughter, sadness, and pain. But every word fails to create its magic spell, and instead, my words are just empty letters lined up in a row.
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