I want to make you feel what I'm feeling,
See what I'm seeing.
But my emotions can't be expressed.
I try to tell you things but my words seem to trip over each other in the excitement to tell of their joy.
Sometimes they falter and shrink back when I reach for them.
In desperation I try to capture my elusive thoughts of the intangible things around me.
Only to have the beautiful things I want to say evade me.
I can merely articulate vaguely and hope you'll understand.
Do you understand?
I want you to understand more than anything
I dream that you may someday know what's in my mind,
See the wheels that are turning,
Feel life in what I say.
Making the connection is hard... I won't stop trying though.
There's a beauty in this endeavor,
Even I don't fully understand.
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"I always wished I could write. I have, too... lots of things. But they're not like I want them. I feel them all in my heart... beautiful things that sing. But when I want to put them down on paper, it seems they're like little wild things... they're gone."
-Excerpt from The Rim of the Prairie by Bess Streeter Aldrich
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Silhouettes of a secret. A story told over a cuppa. Or perhaps just sitting on that stone bench, basking in the moonlight... and not saying anything at all.
("I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks." -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)