I love words. My officemate and I have approximately 17 billion* magnetized words on our file cabinets. We use them to write pretentious haikus.
Words, are not language, but the conduit for language. They allow us to express ourselves: our hopes and dreams and fears.
Words are powerful, but too often misused. It makes me cringe when “good” is used in place of “well” and the “-ly” is left off of adverbs that are crying out to not be left endlessly dangling.
I love people who can use words – not just properly – but to their fullest capacity. People who take the words and stretch them to put as much meaning into them as possible.
Those people can take a bunch of words and make, not merely sentences but art. And that art makes you feel. The words are hot and cold and wrenching and sexy and daring and exciting. They grab you and pull you in for a skinny dip at midnight even though you’d never ordinarily consider something so…naked.
Words are dangerous. They can make you think. So many people are afraid of the words. And rightly so, maybe. Words are insiduous. They creep in when you’re not looking. They slip into your ear and caress your mind. They wake things that were sleeping, and it’s impossible to return to that sleeping state again. Words are openers and broadeners and are of no use to people who prefer closed and narrow.
Embrace the words. Do something (naughty) with them. Change something with them. Write something. Say something. Mean something.