Sometimes I just need to write. Write. Write. Write like it is the only thing I know how to do. As if it is the only means that I have to communicate. Without my words I have nothing. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how they come out. From a full-blown comprehensive analytical essay, to a particularly clever word choice which has limited resonance outside of my own narrow thought patterns.
Either way, the writing is essential. It is like an off-gassing. A pressure-release. That moment when you remove the cover from a pot
of boiling water and the steam is allowed to escape giving the water permission
to boil freely.
As I write, I can feel the pressure releasing from my body
starting in my lungs and chest and into my stomach slowly allowing me to
breathe deeper into my core and allowing the oxygen to sink deeper into my
soul. I start to notice how tight my
jawline is and the slight feeling of pressure in my head starts to dissipate
just a bit. I can focus on my
surroundings again. The sun singing my
skin, the thrum of crickets the pleasant shade of rust-color on the leaves of
maple tree as it perches precariously.
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