These months are marked by dreary nights filled with raging thoughts. I see my fingers standing lightly above the keys, patiently waiting for a green light. Except nothing. I type and then I erase unable to get a grip on my own feelings and intentions. The insanity that fills my mind creates a bottleneck and any chance at coherence disappears. Ideas and realizations and memories jumbled together. My own head rebels against me. I refuse to word vomit. My mental draft inbox is overflowing. I refuse to let it sit and waste away to rot. I need it to make sense. I absolutely need to make sense of it. But all I can do is cry. Then, a surprise. My groans and sobs create a language more comprehensible than the words that so often escape me. I'm grateful that my prayers are known and understood before I pray them, before they come to even exist within me. The rhythmic pattern of my sniffling, muffled wailing, and then gasping for air speaks a much better and satisfying word. And though I am tired and weighed down by my heavy eyes, after the tears I am tremendously relieved. My heart stilled. I've come to express, finally, what a string of words could never fully communicate.
