Spoken Word - Making Windows Out Of Words

As the days become shorter and the walls of your existence seem to close in, when every thought reverberates like footsteps in a deserted corridor, keep this in mind:

You still possess words.

Not the refined ones meant for performances or literature, but the soft ones that come forth when the night feels heavy and the future appears to be a sealed room.

Hold those words in your hands as if they are instruments.

Place them next to each other not to construct a barrier but to create an opening.

A sentence transforms into a small frame. A paragraph brings in light. A page becomes air that starts to flow again.

You begin to perceive beyond the moment that once seemed unchangeable.

Through the window of your words, you see that the sky remains. The clouds continue to shift. Morning still practices its return even if you cannot yet sense it.

Pain does not vanish instantly. The room remains unchanged. The night persists.

Yet now there is a way for the light to come in.

You document what you endured today. You write about what scared you. You describe the form of the silence. You express the relentless heartbeat of hope that refused to fade away.

Each word expands the opening.

Each line allows another breath to enter.

And one morning, without any prior notice, the room fills with daylight that originated from a single sentence.

You glance around and realize you did not flee from the darkness.

You created pathways through it.

You fashioned windows from the only resources you had.

And through those windows, the future is already approaching you.