The sweet stench of freshly paved roads is so intoxicating, that the thought of covering up cracks with a blanket so thick, that it hardens with the sun’s heat, blinds my pain. Words flood my sense of coherency when my senses leave me. They’re everywhere – warning me, soothing me, helping me, guiding me.
Like a mad man, I venture out into the world and there are so many people all around but there are even more words; all enveloped in a deafening patch of noise. There’s a distinct lack of rhythm and there’s music all over the place, giving rise to a tangled mess of illegible words and partially ordered chaos.
There are people asking for directions, others getting their morning coffee while the roads are packed with traffic bringing out the worst in everyone and it’s all – oh, so real. It’s all a manifestation of words infused with meaning and blunt with years of use. Man is but a word that manifests in a creature which is also a word and goodness – there’s so much to process and the noise of life is deafening.
Words are all but sound, vibrating at different frequencies, uttered with specific gestures and emotions, that have been etched into you with the words themselves. Friends from day one, they speak for you when tears don’t suffice, when smiles aren’t enough – words are there to give your voice order, form and coherency.
It’s funny; without words, we wouldn’t know that the feeling of being looked after is called love or the hot feeling that rises from the back of your neck is embarrassment or the chilling grasp of shock is fear. They’re such cute capsules of meaning packed into these artistic sounds conveying so much sense with each utterance.
The serendipity of unexpected rain and the petrichor that follows, and the ebullience that stems from it is beautiful as the day described is, for the words do a lovely job of not just conveying that feeling but also forming a new memory, you can look back on.
Imagining a world, a place to call home without music, poetry or stories seems like a cold world with a heart that doesn’t beat or a flame that’s dark – words appear to be an embodiment of all that we hold dear. The very reason a specific sight makes sense is because there are words to describe what you’re seeing and it enables you to immerse yourself in the wonder of it all – from the bustling crowds to every last leaf.
So when time restarts again, and we’re back to the first second of a minute, and it’s a clean slate – I’m going to use my voice and say my words slowly, experiencing each syllable and packing it with as much meaning as I possibly can. I’m going to be calm, maintain a steady tone and enunciate and feel my words, and realise just how much of a creative miracle they happen to be.
Thoughtfully yours,
D
Random Specific Thoughts 
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