Textual

This is going to be my story, and it shall bring me back. I read those which invent me with their feelings portrayed as entries and exits. I hear them embellished in music, those which regain a place for me in paradise. Some words are scented with hints of immediacy; their rhythm protrudes in the air without fail, poised and stylised. So many words make me wonder what I've missed.

I can’t narrate without questions brought back from the realm of my readings, from the echoing of those words and associations. I wouldn't attempt otherwise. 

I tremble without losing my balance. I bring my forehead out and then move my body forward in search for a place of privilege into the forage, the wilderness of texts. I shift gracefully from side to side until I settle in. 

I know I will return, but then I will bring the books back with me. This was going to be my story, and it shall bring me back.