I like writing. I like stringing several words along to make a sentence in which a person can read and understand what message I want to get across. It never ceases to amaze me how anyone can use words to make poetry, to tell a story, to sing a song, to give a speech, or to say nothing at all.
I like reading. I like looking at the words and knowing what the words mean and what the context is. I like how anyone can write a book. And I just love it when some people can make those words come to life, and leave such a lasting impression that you have to stop for a moment just to sit in awe of what you’ve read and it sends your head reeling in the fact that they’re just words and they’ve got you crying in laughter, shaking as you hold back your tears, screaming in anger, and just breathless with this revelation that you’re feeling all the feels, so much so that it feels as if you are the main character, the hero, the villain, the fighter, the lover.
It’s strange how much emotion you can feel from reading a book. And stranger still, I enjoy putting myself in this sweet torture. It’s like my kind of high. I’ll admit unabashedly: I have cried many a time over a book. I have laughed, I have screamed, I have cried. I have loved, and loathed. I have taken up arms and fought for a cause, and without cause.
There are many things I love about words, but perhaps most of all is how we use it. Literature, philosophy. We use words as a form of art.
And we are all artists striving to create that one masterpiece.