It travels on air with a faint and vivid strength.
It rests on your shoulder speaking sweet nothings to your heart.
It encircles your mind and knows your fears more clearly than you may even know yourself.
It steadies you, as it’s what you’ve always known.
It tells you what you want to hear and makes you feel at home.
It riles and rattles your framework and acts as a series of temporary supports.
Enabling you to maintain its hold.
Love speaks beyond it.
Truth speaks through it.
Hope defends against it.
And yet, it can still bleed into your soul.
Stories of who you are, swirl.
Stories of who you have yet to be, bubble.
Stories all about you, fill you up with enthusiasm and delight.
Stories can be true.
Stories can be enhanced.
Stories can be lies.
It studies you.
It desires you.
It thrives in the simple act of knowing you.
It efforts to make you feel known.
It aches for you to find peace in the being known.
It pursues the place no others know.
Love has allowed it.
Truth has warned of it.
Hope gives freedom from it.
And yet it can still bleed into your soul.
One story overshadows it.
One story provides victory beyond it.
One story whispers back at it and wins
One story refuses to believe its truths, its enhancements or its lies.
What does your whisper tell you? Has it bled into your soul?
Chenille Hollis has been loaded down by her Whisper for too long. These are black words on a white background to show her own Whisper what for. Words submitted online to one, who may put it before many eyes. An attempt to pull order out of this wire like mess of her mind. And giving her one less file of data to store.