They always do the same thing, words. They hide away under the folds of my mind, deep in the shadows, keeping as silent as death. My ability to search for them is limited, so I try my best to shine light into those darkened box canyons of brain tissue, but words are not bound by the laws of physics and my feeble light is obscured by a thick fog. The multi-verse is popular these days, so I imagine that words exist in their own pocket universe and they can control when and where the two realities intersect, allowing me to access them again, but only for a short time.
I try to force myself to create new words when the ones I seek refuse my peace offerings and woeful cries for respite. This piece was born of that method. Here, now, I sit trying to push the words out of my mind and onto the page, but it is a painfully laborious process that taxes my attention and enthusiasm.
Enthusiasm. What even is that any more?