and that is the written word. Through human limitation I cannot put my feelings into speech, and by personal limitations, cannot express them in a visual form. I can however express them in the written word. Pen and paper, fingers and keys. The mind works swifter than the hand, but the hand is capable of scribing just what it needs to to get the essence of the thought. Within that text lies the true mystery, the true answer. With time and revision, anything can be expressed without the urgency of completion and presentation...but where is the task at hand if your hand is guided? It's the MISguidance that stirs the emotions in the first place. The thing that brings out ones own insecurities and darkest fears.
The answers are neatly tucked away in between the words, and it doesn't stop there. The spaces and breaks in between words are nothing like the dark dusty corners of ones room or desk. The spaces in between letters and words merely open to the mouth of a cave so vast, so boundless, and with infinite passageways that criss and cross to the exit of another sentence. One sentence alone doesn't convey the metaphor, nor does the page or even the chapter. At any point in time one thought can extend its awesome ability to another word or another thought, and pull itself there, or let itself remain. The network of possibility is endless.
And with that, farewell.
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