I grab on, pulling myself up,

The whirling tide of emotions and fears swirl around me, tugging at my clothes,

Trying to unsettle me.

Yet, I hold on and start to climb.

The tower of words stretches above me,

An anchor in the storm.

As I climb I see the waters of fear and self-doubt washing at the base,

But they cannot reach me.

As I look the waters are less turbulent.

I gaze up at the tower and focus on it’s strong sides and elaborate turrets.

It holds me like a cocoon,

Steady and warm in it’s reassuring grasp.

Memories of childhood,

The comfort of stories told and shared,

Memories of school and college,

The words of life and knowledge,

Pulling me upwards.

Memories of warm sleepy children, hanging on every word,

The memory of a quiet corner and disappearing into a different world.

Now I can produce my own tower to anchor me and keep me safe,

A strong defence in times of trouble.

The words are always there.

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