There are pieces that exist within each of us, unmovable in their presence regardless of one’s desire or will for it to be otherwise. These pieces — often painful and uncomfortable, sometimes humorous and whimsical — linger within, waiting for their moment.

We hear them as near audible whispers in the wind. We see them as scratches on the table and feel them in the softness of worn blankets. They are experienced in our dreams and forgotten freely as we return through the haze and fog to the waking realm.

Yet these pieces remain present amidst the noise and chaos of our world.

They do not quiet.

They do not yield.

For they know more so than you or I that the words they convey must be written.

And it falls upon us to write them.

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