Where did the words go on the day that they died? The book sat idly, pages blowing back and forth like sails on a ship in the breeze, back and forth, then resting still. Blank.
Where did the words go when they got caught between the tears, when the words spoken over rode the feeling, and when the night became dark and felt so empty, like the pages, on the day the words inside died.
Where did the words go, as the mind stood still watching helplessly and the tongue lay oversized and silent, swallowing the feeling as it moved up and then back down, replaced with the feeling of gut wrenching pain.
Where did the words go, when they couldn’t be written for fear of being found, for if you wrote them, then that made them real and they couldn’t be allowed to live in the light, instead forcing them down and swallowing them like a note passed in class, as the teacher holds out their hand for the little square that told secrets that weren’t allowed to be seen.
Where did the words go when no one was listening, when hearts were breaking, and pages remained empty for years….waiting patiently to live.
My last NaPoWriMo, not written to the prompt. Kept thinking about the death of words, or not speaking/writing what needs to be said, this is what surfaced. Hope you enjoy and Happy end of NaPoWriMo my friends. Peace and love and lots of writing ahead. K