Words and writing.

Sometimes they spill forth and sometimes they don't. I am trying to write a piece that I totally envision in my head, but the words seem to not be there to fill in the blank space.

Why at times do things seem so simple to jot down and at other places in time it feels so painful to write?

Are the words or thoughts placed behind one another, which is first? The sense of reality is blurred. Problem or not? Maybe sometimes it all seems to close to my reality and everything going on in my world darkens the space in which I want to fill.

Can words make us stumble without evening being put forth? Can we so badly want to write something down and our mind stops us as a protection measure? Maybe throwing them all out there is a way of releasing our truth but at times it becomes to close to this moment. Our space and places changes, hence our words reflect that change. By writing them down in stories it be an easy release. But perhaps when the words catch up with the current moment it be tougher to place them.

The honesty and truth shines through and all protection is no longer valid. But how do some folks just write from a part of an imagination with no consequences in there reality? Wish I could.

Words seems so important to me. Being in a place in life where hearing is so delicate words seems so safe in the sense that writing them I can still hear them regardless of the voice used to send them. Words shine past the sound. They live on and rumble through the brain endlessly. They can be vibrant and alive in a way like nothing else. They put forth images and texture. The live.

Words are endless, so where are they when I need them? May they wash up soon. The space seems lonely without them.