The Stars and the Cookie Jar

...Last night, someone took the words and lit them. I could hear, I could see, I had to write, I had to.

It gets like this. It gets where my words for the outside world are consumed, and cannot be spared.
So when I try to explain things, I never can, because all the words are being used and burning up.


If you could understand...

I feel leashed, tethered, jessed, tied down waiting. I can't wait, because the words run on ahead of me. But I am waiting on a word. If it's not good enough, what will I do?

And all the sounds meanwhile beat around my head like hundreds of wings, and they get all tangled, and to set them right again... I don't know. I never can explain it.

I know I'm a writer because I'm a complete slave to this thing in my head. But now there's you. And before I can go on, I have to know. Because you matter that much, because the words are less and less than anything if you choose.
It's not been like that before. It's like fighting a tide. My head doesn't know what to do. I don't know what to say. Nothing I can say has weight enough: it's like this and I don't know why.

This is the first time I've loved anything more than the sound and the story in my head.