My hands tremble with the anticipation of words untold. Fingers itch to drive pen to paper to describe my contemplations. Afraid that too much time wasted will allow this tangle of words to slip away and never be written. Knowing that if any scrap of paper passes my way I could explain what it's like to be abandoned, lost, comforted, then found. I wait, listening to crowds ramble on when it's all I can do to hold onto these few words that just might define me.
At last my delay is over and relief fills my eyes as my fingers curl round a pen and let it swoop down the page.
I'm cured.