What's Invisible is Still There.
He listens to me...he always has. I have to learn to speak. I will, as we go. As we learn. I've stopped mourning my vision, and am living what is. It hurts less, but more, but in a real live satisfying way. This makes sense. I'm doing everything I can to avoid writing poetry, letting the lines that feed through my head slip away into the never more. With fleeting thoughts of wow...that was really good...until I stifle that, and banish that rhyming, rhythmic voice to my unconscious. I can't write... Sign in to see full entry.