Words

They are the molecules of language.

Some are small, like bubbles, floating on the page. Others are more complex, like the silhouette of a sword fight on a cliff.

Sometimes, it’s in the ears. The way they all sound together, as they leave the lips.

Sometimes, it’s internal. You can feel the precision sizzle it’s way from the inside out.

There is nothing quite like the satisfaction felt as the search ends for the subliminal curation of the perfect expression. Completion.

They possess the strength foundations are made of. They contain the power behind explosive reactions.

How can they be all these things and still an empty box? Why do they sound hallow when they come from you?

Words are just words, after all. No one can fully live in a place built on sounds our faces make and shapes we draw to communicate.

There are too many holes to interpret, too many ideas that never take form. Too vast of a sensational reality, to be lost sifting through a jungle of words.

The meaning is gone and the noise becomes dull. They don’t even look good anymore.

With a transformation like that, no wonder they have the power to wreck my soul.