Unspoken words are the poison that stills my blood and decays my bones. Like detached spider legs: still twitching after their painful demise.

These unspoken words stayed at the tip of my tongue, where they patiently waited. Anticipating the moment they could crawl to my fingertips to be released in an explosion of ink.

But these unspoken words were neglected for tight hugs and busy days. They’ve been left to shrivel up and die in a world without air.

Only now do I grasp my pen tightly, gently releasing a thought at a time. I’m risking everything right here.

But how else will I learn to fly?