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crucial communication

It is so much easier for me to express myself in writing. Spoken words always fail to make it past my tongue properly, wandering astray over my lips to the point where what I say is very rarely what I mean.

I mean what I write.

I think I write what I mean, most of the time.

Perhaps I should give up speaking.

Reserve the use of lips and tongue for tasting and other pursuits.

Carry around a pen to translate my heart and my mind instead.

I worry there would not be enough paper, and I would have to resort to inscribing my thoughts and feelings on other surfaces instead.

I might not be able to control myself when there comes a sentiment I simply must express, words howling over walls or doors, desperately needing to be read.

And I would live in constant fear of running out of ink.

 

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

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