For as long as I can remember words have been my solace. My safe place was in the gaps between the letters. I wanted to be wrapped in the embrace of ink and paper, drifting in the harmony of a story. Then my relationship with words changed, deepened. I wanted to create that solace for myself and maybe one day for others. I broke apart pieces of my soul, examined them for the depth of their worth, and then committed them to paper. I put sounds and syllables to my emotions. I made my wants, hopes, pains, and dreams into something tangible something that flows and trembles. And despite this love, this unending connection, there are times when everything gets stuck. The words die on my tongue, tangle in my throat, beat uselessly at my sternum. I can feel them thrash wildly within my soul, hear their despondent whispers, and yet I can’t set them free. They remain trapped within me, seeking a release I don’t know how to grant them. I want to throw wide the gates and let them rush forward untamed and unrepentant. I want to flood the world with the ecstasy and torment of my words. And one day, I will.