The Unpainted One

If I could write a letter to the world…. No….

If I could write what I truly mean… Or…

If I could say what I truly write… Yes.

I would knock your socks off, blow your mind, send you reeling madly into the deep well of my head with no life vest. Illustrate one moment so clearly and concisely that you would find yourself lost in a complex world of adjectives, where the only lifeline is the steady flow of my voice.

I would capture you with a single word or gesture, sway you to the dark side with a gentle crook of my finger. Caressing your wanton flesh with a soft sentence like a feather, leave you shivering in the absence of my prose.

I would claim you with a simple poem, illustrating all those emotions you never dared to look at with the talent of a master painter. Coloring your blank white canvass with the vivid strokes of life, ’till even your breath was captured in complete clarity.

 

Ah, but I cannot do these things. Each time you stand before me I lock those words behind the iron bars of my teeth, a prisoner in the depths of my own head, gazing out through my eyes at all the greener pastures. If I thought you had the ability to understand perhaps one of every three words, I may attempt the creation of such a masterpiece. I’m afraid however, that such a profusion of lyric would swamp your mind so filled with facts in neat little rows…

Such a pity, really.

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