Clueless Ink

I want the micro stories,
the little pieces,
the things unsaid.

With me, on my pages. 

In my heart.

I want to listen to everything:
what you have to say,
what a mother whispers,
a friend’s quiet cries,
someone’s quiet disappointment.

Because yes, there’s always a bigger picture,
where every story folds into another,
becoming a movie,
confusing,
honest,
beautifully human.

Like some people build a home,
these stories build a film,
moment by moment,
truth by truth,
through heartbeats,
through fears,
through smiles that go away
and then come back again.

Talk fast, stumble,

pause,

let your heart lead.

I’m here.

Be you,
because I want to hear all the voilàs in your voice,
all the tension in your shoulders.
I want to be there for some of it,
for all of my people.
And for the rest, for me,
I want to pause,
introspect,
and write.

Write about you,
about the people,
these stories, the ones we share, the ones we don’t.
My imagination, your truth,
your words, my way.