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My pen is heavy with words that want to be written.
Fingers aching to guide the ink across the page in hopes my heavy heart may become a little lighter.
No amount of ink could fill enough pages to shake the heaviness that haunts me.
What's this I speak of being haunted?
Surely someone with a smile of sunshine knows nothing of the sort.
There's no way I can know of such darkness.
Right?
Believing this would be your demise.
My entire life is about dark versus light.
Most of these are fought in silence.
Why speak of them?
Not many want to hear a story of such sorrow.
I'll just write instead.
Immortalizing my story to those who care to read it.
Instead of forcing it upon ears that let it fall to the floor.
I refuse to whore my speech around.
Not anymore.
I run my fingers over the words spilled across this page.
They are as real and alive as I am.
This fight is real.
This pain is real.
And soon the victory will be real.