Day Two Hundred and Fifty Three - Mute

Sometimes I feel as if I'm mute unless there is a paper and pen in front of me. I can be so full of words but my lips will not form them, my tongue becomes thick in my mouth. My hand speaks for me. It finds the words, and their arrangement, in ways that seem impossible to my mouth. 

And some days, I just feel mute all around. As if neither my fingers nor my lips have any hopes to express what is in me. And perhaps that is its own form of wisdom. When the words run out, does action follow?