I have always been one to compose. My body has always been viewed as a vessel for these strings of letters to travel through as they journey from the void to reality. It has always been natural.

Until my accident two years ago. 

When I destroyed the car, I lost my words. They vanished. I was left alone. My body was empty. I could not hear.

Time slipped by. Then, one depressing day, I heard a scratch. It was gone before I knew what it was. Weeks danced by. Then, I heard it again. It was as if my childhood cat was clawing the door in an attempt to free himself to explore. Only this was inside my mind. Excited, I turned to the noise. As soon as I did, silence.

This game continued. I heard the noise. I would turn. Away it went. Scratch. Turn. Away. Scratch. Turn. Away. This was pure agony. When I was about to give up and consider myself insane, I heard a muffled voice. 

In my mind, a door appeared. I approached it slowly. The voice was stronger. I placed my ear against the door.

Silence.

My fingers trailed the door. I could see no knob. I could see nothing. No way of opening the passage to uncover the voice, the scratch.

Daily, I began to inspect the door. Daily, I listened to the frantic scratching. Daily, I listened to the voice multiply into two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Before I knew it, I had an entire band of voices. And no way to get to them.

Slowly, depression embraced me. Self harm emerged. Cuts and burns decorated my body. It became too much for me. I was trapped in boxes. All I had was a useless door.

I can not say how long this black period lasted in my mind. I was a ghost inside myself. There was no connection. It was dark. So very dark. And it was in this time, I heard singing.

I reformed my being. My hands. My feet. My torso. My hair. All of it. I crept out of the dim box. The music stopped at the door. Tears were in my eyes. This door was taunting me. I loathed this door. The singing was louder. To my knees, I fell. My fingers brushed the door, head down in despair. 

The door slid open.

As it turned to dust, the most beautiful creature knelt before me. A song was sung. I was gathered up into comforting arms.

My words were back.

With the return of my muse, I could see again. My hand turned into a pen. I was a vessel again. I was writing again. The desire to share words with others was born. I no longer wanted to hide my words away. 

I want to write. I want to share. This is a journey. One I am ready to begin. It will be an adventure.