Words were all he had. He lived for them. He lived through them. Sometimes only through them. He loved them. They hated him. But they were his. They would set his pulse racing, fill him wonderment. Little packets of magic and joy. He would devour them with the eagerness of an edacious wolf. He would smile at them. They would smile back. He would let them roll off his tongue and lose himself in the fleeting rhythm. They would swim in his head-- now here, now there-- tickle him, tease him, leave him in an ethereal stupor. Yet, he knew their treacherous nature. They would abandon him when he needed them the most. Like little imps, laughing wickedly, they would watch him from a distance as he gasped for them. Traitors! He hated them; he loved them. He loved them like a lover who sacrifices his pride at the altar of love. But, then, they were all he had. He lived through them. Sometimes only through them. ~aviD
Posted on: Sun, 07 Jul 2013 16:57:19 +0000
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