Dear Mr. Carver-

     You said all we have is words. I think of this often; when filling these pages; before I display my heart on new tables, in unfamiliar houses that smell like home; while I replay or write future conversations. But I do not have the right words tonight.
     There are few dark roads or empty parking lots in this town I haven’t littered with cigarette butts and the contents of my head. The car stereo will never be as loud as I need it to be. It plays words written by men I’ve never met, juxtaposed in perfect lines. They’ve all felt this before. This isn’t new to anyone.
     With every night lit by passing headlights my voice gets softer, my tongue dry, it gets harder to weave the right words. My mouth moves in familiar patterns, silently trying to recall a time when the noise it made drew the hairs on the back of someone’s neck toward the sky. Affected.
     I always meant to speak simply, even in my long-winded sentences. Tonight, I feel so simply, without, that silence seems like the only thing I can say. It’s been a while since I’ve heard my own voice. There are no mirrors for that.
     I admire you for your simplicity. For the scenes you paint with brevity. For your words. For the weight you’ve placed upon them. I believed you when you said they are all that we have and we must make them right. But tonight I wonder if all we have are the words what can be done when there’s nothing left to say?

-K

"That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones."