The silence was all you wrote, a secret passed along to everyone but me, changing hands, like trading stories, each version void of details, subtly heightened. Strange how certain things can empty me like a blank page longing for words to make it matter more, as though the ink will smear across the paper, penetrating my heart with the feeling from one fucking word. Sometimes that’s too much. Who am I to ask for more of what came before? It’s not for me to say your pain is any less or your feelings are much lower on a scale of one to ten. I can only judge my own feelings knowing I tipped the scales a long time ago, never knowing how to balance myself back closer to one. I’m all in or all out. There’s nothing wrong with that, in fact I prefer the ones who know how to tip the scale beyond ten, break it open beyond a number or a feeling. Reinvent the meaning until it cannot be contained, even in your own heart, burst at the seams of what you thought it was all about, dig deeper into your own flesh until you start looking for a new word to define that feeling. The way it overtakes your bones, bends up into your heart, makes your eyes swirl with the colors of each beat, throw your heartstrings up to the moon, see how many stars come back holding wishes for those dreams in your eyes. Capture that moment of yourself. I will show you how. Leaving feelings on the table, untouched, it’s fear trying to make you taste it. Don’t do it. That’s poison sometimes you know. It tastes good, but I swear to god it’s a trap. It will swallow you into an ocean of darkness you can’t swim out of. Don’t ever edit your feelings. Don’t downplay anything you felt before to make the after hurt less. It’s a disaster. A rough draft called final before you have the chance to make changes, it’s done. Don’t half ass write the story of your life in permanent ink that calls it done. This life… it’s always moving, growing, evolving into something new, like you… like you. You won’t be the same person tomorrow, the one you see today is only for today. Tomorrow is blank… longing for you to fill it with yourself.