There is only so much paper to write on
Before it is no longer environmentally friendly
I cannot cut down trees to support my addiction to compose an eight minute symphony
The music will have to do with four
There is only so much air I can speak into
Before my words become suffocating
We were not made to breath in ideals, our lungs cannot carry history
Words bear the weight of every single person that has used it
There is only so much space — but there is!
There is so much space that our voices will never have to cramp together, our ink will never have an edge to follow
I wonder, if we could etch out words into the stars, if we would ever stop?
The universe will never stop expanding so I wonder if our words will just get carried away?
Lost in the galaxies
Even then infinity doesn’t seem to matter if words will not stay put
But then maybe that is the lesson
That there are words that will stay and words that will go
We will never know which is which
It is wiser to choose the one’s we are comfortable with both keeping and losing