Spending a, seemingly lonely, Friday night in made a turn for the better. Buried under blankets,
I spent my time reacquainting myself with the words I've collected. Not just any words,
but the prettier of the infinite combinations made from the twenty six tiny letters that
don't mean much while solitary. On top of pretty, they're the words that come off the page
and slap you in the face. And if they don't slap you, they kiss you. It's not enough to say they speak to you.
Speaking is shallowest of their intentions. These combinations exist to make you feel.
Words are the skeleton of sentiment.