Words, Sentences, Paragraphs

I wish words would fly by me like butterflies and land softly on my page. I wish words would tap me on the shoulder and whisper to me. I wish words would entice me and tease my hand to remember everything. I wish they would fall out of the sky onto my pages softly and with adroitness. I wish they would come out of the bathtub drain — the ugliest words — and crawl into the story in the ugliest part.

I wish words would parade by like Kim Jong-un’s soldiers, fiercely and in a straight line, and tell me what the hell to write. I wish words would lap up from the ocean and make the ink run on my page. I wish words would get tickled out of trees and become my pages.

I wish sentences would grow and expand from words and that they would be boundless and full of poor structure and punctuation. I wish my sentences would curl up gently in my lap and purr the secrets I need to tell. I wish my sentences would get poured out of my teacup and that they would be brought to me on the breeze.

I wish my sentences would snow on me and create large gaps where it would melt. I wish they would telepathically deliver themselves and that my hand would know what to write. I wish my sentences would slither out of my heart, past my shoulder and down my right arm onto the page. I wish my sentences would float into my consciousness and free the trapped canary.