For the fun of it

For the fun of it

I write for the fun of it...for the goofy or gracious words, the play on words, the onomatopoeias and metaphors, even the alluring alliterations. I love the backward or inward glimpse into language, the heart through the pen which is connected to my fingers, arms, then veins and back to the heart again. 

Through my capillaries runs life and life is what we're here for–the light, the goldness and the goodness, the preciousness, the diamonds that we give through our words or the pearls of wisdom we choose to take...or maybe we throw them into the ocean, hoping someone will grab them, hoping someone will see who we are.

And so we are all valuable stones with veins of ink running through us even if we may not feel it. Maybe the point is to discover the hues of our own personal ink, paint our exterior with it, break it out for others, and offer what is softened from the hardness of life. 

Maybe some people have gone to clay and are already soft. May they stay that way and offer the gray that forms them. It is a dear gray, one that cuddles, one that coddles, and then flows into the river of other colors.

Ah, if we only spoke through our colors. For the fun of it. For the light of it. For the life of it.

Photo: Leonardo Aguiar

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi