Just write words

Just write words, she said.

Are words so easy to come by? What if they just don't come to you? What do you have then? Perhaps thoughts? Lots of thoughts? Memories?

Of happy times, of difficult times. Of rise, of fall. Of travels, lives led. Lives that were led too. Roles played. Memories etched out that feel fresh as if they happened only yesterday. What if these memories did not exist? What if we did not have memories? No remembrances?

Or what if whatever we remember just did not happen? What if they were a distorted version of a reality that was starkly different from what we thought we saw with our weak, myopic visions? What if they were just whatever the eyes wanted to see and our souls wanted to feel? What if our skins wanted to feel the touch of that light, cool breeze on the bright summer mornings and the dewey coarseness of the blades of grass that we rolled through? What if our mouths just wanted to feel Ma's Black forest cake melt away? What if our ears just wanted to hear those stories that our fathers told us of places far away and hopes hoped for?

What if none of it ever really happened?