They cluster on your tongue, tipping out into the brightness of the day. They form like hungry pigeons on the tip of your pen, a sudden movement and they are off, swirling in shapes and sounds; a tip, a curve, a dip, a line.
The make you feel so strongly, and yet can be ignored completely. They sing loud with aggressive force, and whisper soft nothings in the depths of dark. Beautiful and harsh, they can save you and split you apart. Nothing is quite as stern as one severely cracked out forced to be heard. And yet there is sweetness to their harmonizing sound, a simple melody of music rolling from your lips.
Do you see the bumbling mess of them, jammed together on the page? A whirling sprawl of black lined up like marching soldiers preparing for imminent attack. Thousands and millions all set up in a line, they are waiting for your eyes to skim across their lines.
Beautiful and sweet, as well as harrowing if in defeat. They are what you will make of them; tender, loving, horrible, wonderful, terrible, amazing, difficult, deceptive, delightful….words.
