Nothing but fumes

Sometimes, words are born from the crack in your heart as minor as an hairline fracture, take up space in veins alongside blood forming clots in between and get caught in the lump of your throat choking your voice. 

Because you cannot say them out aloud. Because saying them aloud would mean setting your world ablaze. Creating a pyre with the same hands with which you have nurtured happiness, one day at a time, using your spit as fuel and lighting the fire with your tongue. You are still sane enough to not do that. 

You thus let it bite you in the pit of your stomach. You let the carcasses of your words burn in the same crack in your heart where they were born. You let them rot inside the whole of you. The stench and burden of these words will then come out of your mouth as nothing but fumes. Visible yet invisible. 

Words

A nudge. Sometimes, that's all that is required. That it's about time you recede your steps. A hint. An incidence. A phone call. And a repetition of all that has broken you. And you begin to grow. Inward. Start your journey back. Give up the emotional cushion you had begun leaning on. Unintentionally though. Because you know better now. You aren't prepared for hurt again. So you know it's the best time. To retreat. Find comfort in things that don't treat you like an option.

Words. They have always been there whenever you have needed them. To heal you. To warm you. To soothe you. To cure you even. Always. Though you have been mocked, time and again for taking refuge in words. In fiction. In life away from reality.

Words. Because they mean much more to you than just some alphabets put together. They mean darkness inside you spilled out on paper so that some light can enter, at least. Because they mean solace. They mean preference. Because they are your words when you write them. And they are written for you when you are reading them.

Words. Because they mean the world. Because they don't treat you as an option. Because they are yours. And you are them.

Comfort - Haiku

when world is cruel

and emotions unnamed surge

words, you comfort me

*****

tired, broken, angry

life be hard, but mother's lap

of comfort it smells

Written for Haiku Horizons Prompt # 18 - COMFORT