I want to let it go, drop it from my clutching fingers, and see where the wind takes it. Blow it away, out of my mind, for it's no longer in sight. Were written words so easy to carry when they weighed so heavily? The wind feels nothing; surely it will spin the words, weaving tales that humans would never understand. Whispering the daffodils would sign the words to the trees, who mutter it to the dancing squirrels. I want to let it go, but the words are so heavy in my mind, I'm being weighed down with a force stronger than gravity. My fingers refused to respond to my pleads. Clutching the words so desperately to my heart. The wind plays with my hair, telling me sweet little lies in my ear; I'm so tempted to believe.
An arm wraps around me, pulling me into shock, let me go, I mutter to the wind. I'm twirled around as paper bursts violently, showering me with lines, with characters, with white and black. The arm holds strong as I stumble forward into the warmth. Stop me, the wind doesn't listen, it hears only written words, and my words have never graced paper. The pen in my pocket weighing heavily, useless for someone adapted to silence. I find it appearing into my hand, the wind guiding my thoughts. They appeared in front of me, before being whisked away, but I want them back. Give me my thoughts back, I glare to the thieving wind.
I want to let it go, drop it from my clutching fingers, and see where the wind takes it. White doves float by, leaving their feathers in an inviting trail; step by step I'm led to that tree. The knot in it speaks, hide your words. I blink and the words are flowing from my mouth, a trail ending in that small entrance. Safe from the wind, I want to let them go, my mind smiles wickedly as I shut it out again.