My heart that is! No more sure of what would be more appropriate to use - soul or heart. More and more people have flung on me what looks like an accusation - I weigh my words. But what is a word if not worth its salt. No takers sadly for my sincere effort to let a word meander around my tongue, be weighed and then let out lovingly.
The itching although has nothing to do with my grief as a misunderstood soul. It is just that words are finding me again. I returned home this summer to find my neighbour gone. What stayed on were two discarded chairs on his roof. One long glance and words came out. I went on my rooftop and words tumbled out. I was fair to them. I put them down on paper and then made it a point to lose them. But that didn't help. It is like the pollen from the words have taken wings. I now want to write...and not just write but write a novel. It is funny! Funny because there is no plot, no idea and no characters. There is just a germ and that germ is making my heart itch. No more sure of what would be more appropriate to use - soul or heart.
The itching although has nothing to do with my grief as a misunderstood soul. It is just that words are finding me again. I returned home this summer to find my neighbour gone. What stayed on were two discarded chairs on his roof. One long glance and words came out. I went on my rooftop and words tumbled out. I was fair to them. I put them down on paper and then made it a point to lose them. But that didn't help. It is like the pollen from the words have taken wings. I now want to write...and not just write but write a novel. It is funny! Funny because there is no plot, no idea and no characters. There is just a germ and that germ is making my heart itch. No more sure of what would be more appropriate to use - soul or heart.
