I lack

I have never arrived at a lack of words.

I have always been so enchanted by the power that they harbor; each word unique in its meaning, its sound, its presentation.  Words can be both shields and swords, flowers and weeds, nurturers and thieves.  In its immeasurable versatility, only the word "word" itself is undefinable.  Conscious or premature, words have the ability to (in a single moment) change hearts, start fights, jerk tears, spark laughter, steal happiness, fix a marriage, make music, give directions, share oneself, establish identity, shed light upon beauty; words have an inevitable and incomprehensible impact.  To me, the worth I claim from expression through words reigns supreme to any other success.  As competing thoughts ensue continually in my head, all of those words -so many captivating words- dangle themselves in front of me like prey.  The challenge of verbal mastery to achieve both eloquent linguistic expression in addition to flawless prose propels my perpetual love of words…they have always been mine.

I have never arrived at a lack of words.

Until recently.

Each one of these words feels forced.   

With each new letter that comprises each new word, I am swimming in what feels like (for the first time) verbal incompetency.  And I hate it, you see, because I sit here, with a mind full of thoughts more eager than children on Christmas morning and yet I have nothing. to. say.  My heart paces almost painfully while my hands are prepared to pounce on the keys to type type type type type type type these endless thoughts of mine, and yet their preparation proves worthless.  Even the ‘tick’ of the keys induces nausea. It’s an awakening instance where expectation and desire cease to align with reality, for my desire as of late is to use words in the easeful manner that I always have.  But. I’m simply unable to render a masterpiece like I had once thought possible.

I mean, these are all words pouring out of me and yet they mean nothing.  I am literally saying nothing when I write this.  Perhaps this is a result of nineteen years of endless chatter.  Maybe I'm running on empty; that my thoughts are not worth sharing.  It could be the universe's quiet way of telling me it’s time to shut my trap.  Whatever it is, it hurts.  I’m so numb to so many things lately; confused about my purpose, my future, my surroundings, myself.
 And for the first time in my life, I simply do not know what to say.
But the one true thing that still sets me free from the slavery of circumstance is the Truth that I am not my own.  It is not about my purpose, or my future, or my surroundings, but rather His.  And even while I read this lackluster, forced, insignificant verbal vomit in which I say absolutely nothing about anything with words more empty than a desert sea, His unyielding love consoles me greater than any single string of words ever could.

Until now, I have never arrived at a lack of words.

Then again, I suppose they were never my words in the first place.