1 x Wet Sunday Afternoon
Words are strange creatures to me.
Words have given warmth and comfort to my soul when it was in need.
Words have wounded me deeply and at times bruised my already broken heart.
Words have at times provided me with great power and strength to carry on.
Words have at times meant nothing to me at all.
Words sometimes escape us, leaving only silence.
Words exist in silence too and can speak just as loudly to those friends who are dear enough to understand both.
Wordsworth wrote that when writing we should fill our paper with the breathings of our heart.
But to those we entrust with the breaths from our heart, how do we know whether they will receive warmth, comfort, wounds, bruises, power, strength, or nothing at all?