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life

I always felt a need to fill the silence with words.

I always felt a need to fill the silence with words without ever once realising that they were as much the source of my sorrows as of my joys. I still cling to them at times and as though pale driftwood rafts in all this alienating darkness, they take me where they will; at times where I want or need to be but more often not. I wonder, too and as a natural consequence, if words write us more than we write them and if the illusion of control that meaning brings is really something of an optical illusion as trick of the light by and through which words blindly and without will manipulate and guide us for their own advantage and to their own unknowing ends.

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