I sometimes ponder the redundancy of words, second hand letters used again and again to describe the minds responsive state. Is any word sacred? On my death bed with my dying breath will I whisper for the first time the totality of my love on a sacred word that you will treasure as you would the lingering touch of my lips against yours? How many times have we whispered love into other lost souls? These are the foundations of our past. We use them as stepping stones into our future, recycling the feel of them beneath our fingers. A monochrome TV set fixed on repeat with the remote long gone. Are we destined to forever read from the same script, to forever act out the same scene, repeating our well rehearsed lines, over and over.
Karen Hayward ©2016