In Others' Words

I drench myself in others’ words.

Beautiful, haunting, glistening in the shadows like stars. Like water. I walk through the condensation suspended around me, globules of sound. They cling to my skin, the fine hairs on my arms and the fibers on my clothes soaking them up until all of me is covered in a silvery sheen of words in moonlight—a silken spiderweb dress made of dew. I am swept up in their torrent. I drown in the sound. It pounds through me, a thunderstorm.

I drench myself in others’ words.

I do it so that a single droplet or two may melt together, to form a thought that slides down the precipice of my brow, a sign, a symbol, perspiration. It tells me, You have made it. You have birthed and baptised a voice. That is the sum of all my work: a single drop of sweat to leave a mark I may call mine.