wasted without words

It is wasted I know but I think that from a distance I can send it. I imagine you receiving this flow and maybe you catch a thought as well from time to time. You know not quite from whom this comes.

I cannot speak. Words hold such power in cases like these, they hold huge meaning, they are the form, the passing of legends, and they are complacent with adjustment. It’s a dark threshold on which you stand and darker still if you should come to meet me.

I know these storms like the back of my hand, I know them like I know my own name, and they are one and the same, desperation and lonely elevation. I would have you know if you haven’t felt the change in me that I am learning how to free myself, I am learning how to turn the storms into silence and my every heartbeat into the everlasting, overflowing bliss. You have this same choice, through torture and pain; you can be ever greater than all the greats.

Words mean nothing really, they are just sounds. I am learning to transcend them, to soar higher, to get higher. Words can transform, words can delegate, and words are concrete in this case, a case of communication. A wretched communication, one of dreams none the less. I want to keep my mouth shut and I cannot speak but I must in order to be great.