Sometimes I don’t want to write, sometimes I can’t wait to pour my mind onto the page and sometimes I have to write just to prove to myself I can.
When inside my head the voice begins to speak I listen to her tone, I listen to the rhythm of what she is trying to say because I know how important it is for her to speak. From broken hearts to broken dreams, from pleasure to pain, she tells me everything. Sometimes she expresses herself in fits and starts until the words flow like her emotions. When during live conversations, her voice gets drowned out by my own, trouble starts; she can’t go back and edit to make it perfect, to say just the right thing. She has to be very careful and pick her words, hope I hear, or just wing-it and pray for the best.
The voice without sound which speaks to me, to speak to you, is a female voice. It is as if another person is trapped inside of me, a smarter woman, a woman who struggles for me to interpret the importance of her thoughts. She is a wiser person, this silent partner within, calmer and more patient then I. That she wants so badly to be heard fills me with purpose.
So I wonder, this woman with the voice I hear at this very moment, has she lived before? Is she struggling to get out or simply vying to be heard? Sometimes, I wonder who she is, where is she from. If she really isn’t me, than who was she, who is she, and how long will her voice sing inside my mind?
Who speaks the silent voice you hear so clearly from the depths of your stillness?