My words never belong to me. I borrow them, from the places they abode.
As a wanderer my words fleet. Not being bestowed opportunities to get planted.
Currencies of residing knowledge channel into my wires, pushing the conduit’s remains to the sides. Superimposing their existence on the newfound neuro-landscapes.
I feel like Ariel. If I want to talk, I need to use your language. Can you know me if you don’t know mine?
I’ll score satisfactory in your language, and in your’s and in your’s, and in your’s too.
Mine staying unfathomed to me.
When we decided to explore ourselves through language, we lost the ear for the voice that utters from the many layers beneath us.