Speaking of speaking, I like to maintain my words. As if I am a huge container rolled in plastic sheets to prevent my paints from slipping away, I store words. This is rather comforting to me. I can talk to myself, its self convincing- I have words. I often think when had I first imagined something, when did I first conceive words, just to myself, why do we speak?
The natural language isn’t sufficient?
When I see people speaking unnecessarily, there’s some rage which steams in me. It calls for because it can’t see the gift being maltreated. I have a thing for gifts.
I can talk to you, you can talk to me, this is all more than fascinating. Above just communication, there develops a bond layer which reaches to each of our nerve and builds home, homes.
This is the reason that after wasting away in every corner of the world, we long for our homes at the end of day.
When we speak, I expect us to hold hands and let every atom of our existence speak too. Everything speaks. Everything has skin.