Here, as I type, you are close.
(you are just on the other side of my sentences).

You are watching my face
trying to figure out where words
come from.

Watch time stand still with me. Ok? Help me to quietly become one with the search for what is luring me. 

you ask me to be still
and so i do..
you lie hidden within, unfelt
the answers touching you

Which words really matter? Creative to meticulous. The ones that, together in a phrase, have multiple meanings—double entendres—depending on how they are read. I'm a freelance copywriter and a poet. I'm an online marketer and an editor. I'm a social media junkie and a web site blog developer. I'm a blogger and a journalist.

In between the letters is a place. To imagine what occurs—as a word is formed, as a choice is made—is to be a step closer to being in that space.

Sentences are made of more than words. Ideas, described. Pauses, illuminated.

I have always asserted that it cannot be confined to a box, to a timeframe or to a large conference room filled with eager brainstormers. Creative insight does not just come to most people spontaneously—except for maybe standup comedians. It requires what I call a certain zone

You are the memory I have known all my life. You float on a cloud, sometimes white, other times invisible. Clouded, yet not. You are me. You surround me with invisibility—a strength that shields.

Dream, I tear you apart in pieces to unglue what you've become adhered to in search for wholeness. You are a bridge, and are far from broken now.

Is it a heart or mind that is captured when a story comes to live on the screen as if concocted as typed? A memory or imagery merges—paints itself across the screen as envisioned—with feelings and colors from a world that doesn’t quite exist, yet does.

I had no idea how it held me captive, until I was freed and felt the rush of releasing sentiment, reaction and response. Once guarded, now unafraid, I spoke.

Your tapestry speaks of histories, of memories, and of dreams once lived yet maybe not. You are a heart that I have won. Even my nervous and tender sentences do not put a dent in your undying craze over me.

You are green and blue light, swirling together. I hear you thinking. There is something about you I want to learn, grow into and hide in. I do already. You know.

I surrender now to you. To you, and to the powers that be that will make my dreams come true in a second once I let go. To you I speak…

What is inside you when you feel like melting? Are the particles of you floating eloquently in space aimlessly, or alive… waiting to pounce? You remind me of a memory where the bubbles of time enter without a cue, knowing their place.

The way you are looking at me now creates an incredible story in me. It goes on for days. Did you know the power of your eyes? The power of us—as my eyes connect with yours, even from the distance, even in pixels that attempt to encapsulate skin and texture?

It‘s obvious to me that creative words come from the heart and the soul of life, which when flowing freely come sporadically. It is what’s in the silence in between moments.

Sometimes the words don’t come—well only the ones that no one wants to hear. These are the times when I need them the most. It’s when I desperately wish I could write a wonderful book just for me to read, so that I will believe that it’s possible to touch another being in this moment.

As the wind blows, I know why I’m a writer. Because life is in balance; like a seesaw, it tips. I see through a lens that looks for what’s interspersed as opposites—each sting has a petal. I can hear what you see when I am grateful to be alive.

Write with me
... as if I'm writing you
... as if I hear only your voice.

The writer is a person whose faucet of words continues to flow. There is no on/off switch. But, the writer—an author of freelance ways of the mind—can also take a nap. A good nap. And in that slumber, words dancing (or not), there is an inflection that breathes through inactivity that produces the artistic work.

what lays hidden...
reveals
its courage
~ r.e.l. 2012