Echo

If you could hear the words of mine, you would love me then.
I can ensnare with hushed whispers and beguile with long tales. I am music, from my throat I bring beauty and wonder. I have stood before gods and proven them entertained.
You would be, if you could listen.

These noises around us yearn for my sound, they reach out and rustle for me to regale them with stories of their creation, of the blue sky and why it sits so jealously looking at you the same way I do. Even the sky loves you. But I am the only one who can tell it why.

I fear for you. Those who are good, and beautiful and wondrous are swept away at the fancies of others, our worlds taken from us so easily merely because we have talent. My skills were stolen and emptiness remains, I swallow the words given to me in sheer thirst of my own. I breathe them out with pain that they are not mine. I borrow from you and seek a poet, but your poetry is in your face.
Your art baked into you like clay, your eyes like enchanted glass that see all but itself. The world must be easy for you, for now. Even the river rushes to your very feet.

Oh speak to me in words that I may reflect, with my aching voice to coat them. Share your thoughts on the clouds this day, of the vastness of your heart and mind so I may speak of it for you.  It is only fickle time until you are noticed and lost to me, until you are punished for your strengths that were never chosen, only given, only to be taken away once more.
You. Hear me. I am here.

I did not speak too much.
I did not misguide or betray, but I created wonder. I wove words, my skill lain plain at the foot of critics who thought me deceptive as to assuage their own insecurity. I was blamed for creating loveliness in a world where they could see none. And they stole my voice from me, to forever repeat. I may only make music from others’ notes. I may only spin the tales you tell me first.
And oh… the tales you must have.

What have you always wanted to hear?
Tell me and I will create rapture. I will match your dreams to the stars, I will please your mind just how you please my eyes. I am a mirror to you. Give yourself to me and fall in love with what I see.
What do you want?
Say it.
Say anything.
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A story written for my creative writing show Wordplay on the subjects of “fear of rejection,” “a conflict of spiritual and physical self,” and “pride that comes from failure.” Watch the episode for tips on exposition in writing!

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