Another wordsmith said it better than I ever could. Again, I reach into lyrics, short stories, fragments from pieces I never was good enough to write. It annoyed you that I spoke in quotes. I still do.
Without magic, my own language needs to be gently, patiently, slowly coaxed out between the gaps in the scars that seal my mouth shut and trap behind them words I need to speak.
But there’s not time enough in this world for that. I shall swallow.