(It shall be sweet.)

All your written words inspired me more than fingertips. The same as looks and glances and too many fingers plucking strings. How funny, when usually too commonly touch can walk you straight into the deep end, far too high over your head. (Do we overlook the silent value?) But it's not drowning, it's breathing underwater. In disbelief that you could be breathing underwater but you have this new source of oxygen. Life support. Anything to rattle your damn bones up and out of that sleep. That sleeping state of the walking zombie apocalypse that may just be a figment of my imagination. Oh to feel alive! Should I shake you? Or kiss you clean? If honey is so sweeter than vinegar and justice can not be served by anyone undefining, then it shall be taught. (It shall be sweet.) I pray for it to be experienced and felt because it will heal your soul. And save your head.