I’ve accepted it. I have too many damn words inside me.
Maybe the worst thing about having too many damn words: I’ll never be able to get them all out.
Maybe the best thing about having too many damn words: I get to curate which ones I set free.
(You know the worst thing about that best thing? It scares the hell out of me.)
I alone have the power to decide which words I let out. Like, nothing I say in real-life conversations or online or on paper gets through without me giving it permission. Every word in any form I ever communicate is my personal responsibility.
(I’m scaring myself again.)
But I should be scared. Because every word matters.
I want to remember that. Not occasionally, but at the exact moment I’m curating each of the too many damn words I’m going to set free.