How is it that I can not find the words to say to someone that I have woken up to every morning for the past five years? We used to speak about the small things, but now the small things can not be found. Let us wait for the dust to settle; this tornado has not left just yet.
They had found a journey. They held hands as they walked up the mountain. The mountain had many trees and many winding hills. They climbed the trees and ran down the hills. But there was one hill that he couldn't climb. She made it to the top, but she couldn't help him up. It was then that she realized that he could not go where she was going. He didn't want to turn around and go back. But she bade him to go because she was about to fly. And once you fly, you never come back. So she flew away. And he still sits at the bottom of the tree.
I am a writer and a poet. I write what I know; what I know is not limited to my own experiences nor my own knowledge. I have found a way to speak without talking...Please contact me for inquiries about Ghost Writing: rozzeldozzel@gmail.com