You Have No Dreams Apart From This

Always there were words, conjuring their magic. Always there was a somewhere else, phrases like unicorn tracks leading the way. Where words led the colours were softer, safer. Where they led there was silk and dandelion fluff, there were sunsets and warm seas and the scent of vanilla and jasmine. All this time you sat in the waiting room of life, letting language make things better, sentences forming rescue ladders, a way out of every dark valley.

But this year you have been silent as snow. You have opened pages and found them blank, left them blank. You have opened books and print has swarmed in black on white dance then fluttered away. You are left being you, sitting where you are, longing for some dream to hold on to. Wishing wordlessly for some story to come and fill you up. Like this one has. Like this one will.