These Words

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THESE WORDS

Words scream out joyously like the children in the street on a hot summer day.

Words coat me in a sticky sweat like the humidity of the swamps of Florida in August.

Words blow by me in floating crystals, flying in the wind like the first snow of winter.

Words flow over my skin caressing me softly like the cool water of a fresh lake on a warm spring afternoon.

These words, they tickle.

These words, they hurt.

These words, they touch me like no object could because these words aren’t solid pieces but intangible thoughts that touch me deep inside.

I cannot live without these words.

I cannot learn without these words.

I cannot speak or hear or express the very being of my soul without these words, these letters, these sounds, that combine to make me.

Words whisper in my ear, sending a chill down my back and into my heart.

Words stab into me like a knife of thought, deep into my heart, my soul, my mind.

Words flow into me and through my body to my very fingertips, which hold this pencil, which hit these keys, which write

These words.

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