I could probably write beautiful things, things that would make your throat tighten and your eye sight blur, but the words, the words that I need to make that happen, always get stuck.
Stuck in the limbo that separates my thoughts from my speech. It's like trying to remember a dream, all fuzzy edges and bits of feeling. There's no clear end, and no clear beginning. Sometimes you end up in the middle and sometimes that’s the worst part. Not being able to remember the order, the order of words, of sentences, of thoughts.
It's looking left before you cross the street, then looking right, then having to look left again because you can't remember if there was a white truck coming or if it was just the glare from the sun.
It's touching a hot stove when you were three and jumping back crying at the fire racing up your finger tips, only to repeat the action an hour later because you've already forgotten that red means hot.