Waves by Eva Al-Meshal

It seems that these words want to spill out of me, in no logical order…
Just the way ink spills onto paper recklessly and without a destination,
these words are waiting to erupt out of my dormant soul, spilling and spreading like lava – forming new islands of land inside of me.
I want to travel to visit them,
and sail gracefully through the ocean waves of myself… 

Onto the next, and the next…

I want to absorb the fullness and the life of each syllable, each of the particles that merge together to form these islands of bittersweet tales and unexplored desires.
These words have been imprisoned for lifetimes…
And now, they would rather die for their freedom
than live in the dark, dusty corners of my mind.
I suppose I do not blame them.
I hear it is a lonely place there.

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