They Are Coming For Me Soon

 I've always been in love with words.  My mother taught me to read at an early age, and I have fond memories of being caught reading with my flashlight under my covers late at night.  I could never get enough.  Then, I started writing my own stories, trying to find the words to share my soul.  I haven't found them all yet.

In order to tell some of those stories waiting to be told, I also created word collages.  There were many winter nights you could find me with a scissors, a stack of magazines and some Elmer's glue.  I loved combining words together to tell a tale of who I was right at that moment.

One of my favorites collages included the following passage.  It's from a short-fiction piece that I've lost track of, but my whole life I've related to the passage.  "Finally he asks me why I don't sleep much at night, and I tell him that I'm not tired. That as soon as I get into bed, I have too many things to think about.  To remember.  That I get up and turn the light back on.  That I go to the window and wait for them.  They are coming for me soon."

Somehow I can picture that little girl in the window, waiting to be saved, hoping for something different, something that fit.  Maybe that little girl was me.  I can still relate to it today, and that is both amazing and sad.