Waves

The words flow. Images form and ebb like a tide, flowing waves of dark and light. Sometimes the form perfect, just right, other times crashing, images breaking even as they take shape. They leave shards behind, memories of what might have been, where the story could have gone. Only it's not meant to be. That's where it ends. One chance and if you don't grasp at the image, call to the words, pull them to you. They fade, disappear, ebb away like the broken waves, mere shallow memories on the sand.
Words have a mind of their own, when they wish to come and go. They fade before you can capture their essence and other times they ride in all at once, trying to crash, burn themselves into your mind so you can put pen to paper.
I put pen to paper and I write to see what happens. I write to see where the waves will take me at any given point. I write because it's release. It's hope and fear. It's the unknown, the unexpected.  But it's you. The words bubble up from inside you. How in unexpected ways but underlying is a pattern. It's inexplicably you. No matter what, underneath there is you, your perspective foiled in character, plot and intrigue. Your morals, your heart, your story. When you write, it's all there to be seen, to be felt. You look deeper, see more than the surface, see to the core, where currents run strong.