Rambles. Poetry. (Her). Words.

I recently organized all my files in this computer.

There's a folder filled with just poetry.

A lot of it is (which is both surprising and unsurprising) about just one person.

Sometimes I wish I could give them all to this person – so that she could read them; because you see they're personal and deep and I'm afraid all these words I fought to find, all these words that perfectly capture what I feel, all these words that say in much better & clearer ways the things I could never get myself to say out loud, well I'm afraid all they're ever going to do is sit and rot in a file in this computer.

Sometimes I wish I could do that with everyone and everything. That I could just take a moment during every situation and scenario and write down what I'm trying to say, because the words that come out of my mouth never seem to hold the same weight, the same meaning, the same feeling; they get mixed up and jumble up and no one gets them. I've always been insecure of how much I talk, because I've always been teased that I talk too much. And I fear that this means I now never say anything of substance or that when I do people fail to realize it because they think it's the same ol' same ol'. But that doesn't happen when I write them down, because people are forced to read them, to read and understand what I'm trying to say. And so, I guess I don't want the meanings of these words, my feelings, to be lost in a void of compulsively organize computer files. I want someone, anyone, to read them and feel them and be in that moment with me. But I guess mostly, I just want it to be her. I want her to read them – not because I want something from her in exchange, but because I feel like she should know. I feel like someone should know. -SF

#sf