What the winds told me before I forgot

It starts with an ache
So small and hidden you can whisper past it.
It grows, sometimes slowly and sometimes like a wild fire
But it grows and we either drown it, attempt to strangle it, mock it, or like the first dirty though you had we hide it,
ashamed we have something as raw as this within.
However sometimes, by serendipitous hap chance or
via the simple and rare moment when all is quiet within, we hear it.
This strange and new feeling, a condensed seed of longing.
And the dark space divers, the crazy bitches and the mad dogs
stop, sit and pick that thing up and say 'Hello. I see you.'
Then comes a word. Not 'the' word, just a word.
One word, then a sentence, then a phrase, then a page and then a brook and then a river and then a deluge until this ache, this niggle, erupts fiercely from within.
The last drops dangling like the most precious nectar of love.
And we drink and cry in deluded ecstasy 'I have drunk GOD!'
as our eyes roll back into ourselves.
When all we really did was look within and shut the fuck up long enough to hear.

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