Send me your stories, send me your words, send me the parcels of your thoughts; let me run them through myself as though I were an Enigma machine, let them mean to me what they mean to you, let me understand.
Let me unravel your ravellings, re-order your paragraphs, overcome your frustrations at this limiting alphabet. Afterwards, I’ll put them back the way you wrote them, I promise.
Say what you feel, let your thoughts take on a shape, maybe it won’t fit, maybe it will be a disguise, but let me know enough to realign the malformation. Share anything with me, even with the wrong words, even without words. Then it will come out of me as it once was in you.
I almost understand. I know this fact and that story, this image and that view…but I want to see as you see. Show me a different way. Take my hand and we’ll not be afraid as we jump off the cliff of reality; expression and imagination will break our fall.
Then, when the difficulties of deciphering and the endurance feats of exploring are all over, let me lie on a page of your book, let your images play before me. Drop consonants in my mouth, pour vowels down my body, let me drift away on your words.
If I wrote this about you, you know who you are.