Words

She loves words.
They touch her when she uses them well, and when others do the same. 
Words have depth, and thus she responds to them deeply. Innately. Concretely.

She loves what words do.
How they make her feel, how available they are, how it feels like they belong to her.
They overtake her sometimes. Leave her speechless. Sneak up on her unawares and make her head twirl.
Words like penultimate, parsimonious, enigma.

She loves how they surround her,
consume her,
ignite her,
permeate her,
satiate her, please her.
Give her security, give her confidence, give her wings.

Not everyone notices words.
And that, she feels, is a very sad loss for them.
Words deserved to be noticed.
Words like languish, enveloping, champagne. 

The selection of music on her iPod is highly eclectic.
For it's not the genre, nor tempo or timbre that drives her tastes. It is words.
If a song tells a good story, she cannot resist.

It must have taken hold when she was a child
for by the time she was a young teen she had notebooks full.
Published for the first time in high school - poetry anthologies and letters to the editor of her small-town newspaper. Then, in college, a professor who ran a small publication ministry published a paper she wrote for class.
There have been a few other occasions in print. Just a few.
Though the occasions have thrilled her, "becoming a writer" was not something she ever sought.
She didn't need to become what she has always been.
Forum nor monetary recompense ever mattered.
Only that she treat words with the respect they deserve,
these 26
s y m b o l s
that, when united, form living, breathing melodies.
Words like symphony, breathe, starlit, sigh. 

But lately, she finds herself in uncharted territory. Many times lately, her mouth has failed her.
Why - when so often words like "sanctity" and "unfettered" and "harbinger" flow like fresh water from her brain and off her tongue without so much as a conscious thought - why the struggle lately? The words are almost there, but not quite.

They've gone into hiding.
She can see them, because they peek around the corner of her mind, yet she cannot capture them. She goes to them, tries desperately to pull the words forth from the recesses into which they have tucked themselves, but they are steadfast..

They've gone into hiding.
Not because they're afraid of being used, but because they feel so inadequate.

All she has to do is step into his presence and she finds herself a bit tongue tied.
Odd, since she's so comfortable around him.
When he sends her poetry, or recites it, or really, says just about anything, their inadequacy is obvious. How is there a response to such things of life?
When he asks her to tell her how she feels, how is she supposed to find words for all of that?
When she asks, "What should I wear?" and he says, "Eyes smile smarts compassion wit wonder understanding kindness strength faith fun passion intensity authenticity," is there anything to do but smile?

So no wonder.

No wonder the words just sit inside her, doing nothing.

For the first time in a very {very} long time, it is not the words she is using, but the words being used that delight her. It's not that she can't think of what to say. It's that she enjoys being quiet and hearing someone else use them well.
Word-failure.
It's like being under water or high in the blue sky -
everything looks the same so how can she describe where she is?
But nothing feels the same so why can't she just say it already!?

There are few things which move her.
Music. Nature. Water.  Color.

Words.

Words move her even when they fail her.
For although they are a renewable resource,
sometimes there just aren't any.
And maybe those times mean that
she is being led by something intangible to something intangible. Something so full of meaning
there is no way to describe it.
And that is OK.

Sometimes silence says more than words.