While the lines are in the head they never seem to make it out your mouth, do they?
I love you for my love of bright lipstick though the love tends to end there. I’d always come to the decision that were I to lose any of my major abilities as a human I would definitely choose be to lose my ability to speak. Over time my lips have loosened but still half the conversation remains between my cheeks, restrained and forced to dissipate. How difficult it is being a writer but not being able to speak like one. The words lose their meaning and I start trailing off and the sounds that eventually come from me are incoherent and small. The same applies for many conversations, casual and personal and all a pit of lies. If you speak with me expect only have my intention to come from my lips and the other in my expressions. I like to think it’s not a problem when it clearly is. It gets me scared that I’ll never succeed simply because I can’t say what I want to. Will anyone believe I wrote such stories when they see the words that leave my mouth, so awkward and out of place? The world is a terrifying place when you can’t speak about it.
Really it’s through the written text I do the best talking. My mouth is there to look beautiful in various shades of pink, black, and chocolate brown. My mouth has been used in the past and each time I hate it even more. Perhaps I should do myself the ultimate favour and sew it up tight, relying on only what I write in order to communicate. I believe that would make way for conversations I am in dire need to having.