Sometimes words escape me, and I fall silent. Only a fool keeps talking when they have nothing to say.
I don't care what anyone says, there is nothing that wields the same kind of power as words. Even if I'm shot, I may live, I may die... but words can leave a wound that will never heal. Likewise they can mend a broken soul.
Words spoken, words in print, it doesn't matter...
Along with power, words carry knowledge. How else would I be able to describe my intemperate soul, or be able to collude with my like-minded peers? If I describe a thousand diamonds twinkling in the firmanent before the coming dawn, can you glean my meaning from the whole of my words instead of each individual? If I rant about the mendacious and deceitful acts carried on by whatever dissolute party I speak of, will you understand, and in doing so, share my ire?
I don't like the intention of words, or rather, those of the person(s) using them. It's the word itself I'm so fond of. A word doesn't strike a person, but is simply a tool that can, and often is, used such malignant purposes.
No, I want the tool for the tool itself, to drown in the base knowledge without bothering or worrying about the potential harm. Isn't everything based on potential? It doesn't become reality until humans demand it so.
I find words can be much more companionable than humans.
