Member-only story
The Beauty of Words Is All I Have Left
Prose Poetry
Stories to get lost in — that’s how I survive.
Stories to find hope in — that’s how I realize what really matters.
Stories to grasp and never let go — that’s how I find the will to persevere.
Stories to hold me and protect me — that’s how I know true comfort.
Stories to embrace in a myriad of colors — that’s how I find grace within myself.
The stories may shift and change as the years draw on and on, but each one is a blessing to tell me that there’s more light than darkness in this mad world we live in.
The words align like stars in the sky, and no longer do the stories feel as if they are penned by human hands. Some feel divine in their making, as if a hand guided them to completion, just for the day those stories would fall into the hands of the people who needed them most.
I like to believe in fate and the universe’s workings, but even I don’t know how my words weave themselves. Sometimes it feels like an accident, the way the stories reveal themselves by their ends, and I marvel at the happy coincidence that they’ve come to exist at all.
But the truth is that sometimes it feels that the beauty of words is all I have left. The stories help me cope…
