Thursday, September 13, 2007
With pen in hand, I stare at the blank page, the empty lines, but there is nothing but darkness. Hidden in the void the words are there, they hunger for release, for freedom, but they cannot find their way out. The promise of a new life, a chance to live, tempts them from the light shining from underneath the door. Hostages held, bound, tied, the words struggle to come together. They know in numbers there is strength, in numbers words become thoughts, in numbers words are stronger than the sticks glued together to form the door that holds them captive. In numbers words become sentences, the lines no longer blank. In numbers words becomes ideas . . . dear diary, can you keep a secret?