Words are cheap, very very cheap. A dime a dozen. So I buy them up and spend them foolishly. I swim in them like Scrooge McDuck’s millions, relishing the glory of owning a whole language. Mine, all mine. Sometimes I am heedlessly generous and throw them off the rooftops to whoever might catch them, often to see them ground into the dirt by careless boots. But yet I am lavish with my words; hosting feasts so full of words that they spill off the table in a gluttonous display of literary wealth. I am filthy rich in words and I long to share them with those I love and treasure almost as much as my treasured letters.
They are my one gift, my one talent; an ability to create vast sculptures of words, precarious and tall as trees. Not an author; that word just a tad beyond my price range. Really more wordsmith; grimy and dirty with the effort of swinging all those heavy words together. Sweaty and satisfied with my word walls and sentence structures. Mostly satisfied.
Mostly. Because then come days like today. Todays. Gray and lonely days when I would give up every last word. Every one. Even the rare and beautiful adjectives and the vital verbs. The noisy nouns. Hand them all over and live in a world of silence. Spend every single one if only to gain 1 long and lasting hug.
Yeah, just like that.