I can't write any more. Or even talk. Because when I try to do either, the words I go to great lengths to find simply melt away. And I'm left behind, lashing out blindly, trying to chase words that won't wait for me to catch up. Ideas clutter my head, thoughts float about, but the words continue to elude me.

Circles

So we sit there by the water's edge, watching the stream run its course, the hurried flow of the water, breaking here and there on the sharp, jagged rocks. And suddenly, from nowhere, there's a hint of colour; we cheer as we witness the colourful circles ripple and change hues, from red to orange to blue, working their way through all the seven colours of the rainbow. They dance in tandem with the ripples, almost beckoning us to forget all else and jump into the depths of the stream. Do we? No, because you hold me back and say, stop.

You'd always tell me to stop. But I cannot bend to the will of another. I cannot remain static and unfeeling. I shift and change, just like those many-hued circles in the water that we saw the other day. They are me.