No Words Yet

A year ago I wrote about joy (Joy Comes) when I didn't feel any joy. But it did come and is coming here:



There's some kind of clog between my heart and my tongue (and by extension, my pen) these days and I'm not sure why. It's like calcification growing on a bone--the awkward bump that remains after the messy part of healing is over. A clog. A bump. A blockage? However, whatever you want to call it, the more compellingly important thing is that my heart is fleshy and pink, healthy and slowly growing  a new batch of hope. I want to tell people about it, about my hope, but like I just said, my words are having trouble getting past the blocks and out of my insides to my tongue.

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not even sure that this new thing inside me is even "word-able" yet. Or maybe there are actually so MANY words that I know if I started letting them out all my guts might come out too, and I'm not sure I really want to create that kind of wet squishy mess right here. At least not yet.

But here's to undefined hope, and to pink fleshy-ness after long grey coldness. Here's to life.