2

two words were all it took for it to finally hit freezing point. of course, the optimist will say that the freezing point is also the melting point, and i shall carefully fold those words up and attempt to smooth them into the frazzled recesses of my seat of emotions — a seat that has been left unwarmed for the past 7 years. sure it is cold and dusty now. not only do i not want to go near it, but there is a garrison — a mangle of thorns and briers that snaps itself at me when i try, and i shirk away. and oh, there is a silent hand — a strange sudden quiet that hushes the waves raging within me and strokes me to rest, or my attention it wrests. yet i've been told: this seat is the crux as to whether i will ever be able to emote, to emote in a manner that pierces hearts and cuts bones. not skin deep; a depth that i've been all too comfortable wading and basking in its shallow plasmic depressions. just a tiny sample — if this seat remains empty, i will be an empty singer. and taking this warning one step further... if this seat remains empty, will i be an empty preacher?

well then the only words my lactic, flailing arms can gesture: Lord help me.