Words.
Words words words.
I get so sick of them.
Incomplete, misleading, substanceless...
Incredibly versatile.
Able to form any argument regardless of reason.
But I like voices.
Lyrical tones unique as fingerprints.
Rhythm, cadence, pitch, and emphasis say more about a person than the structure of their words.
Voice...
It's my own voice that echos ceaselessly in my head.
Grown seasick upon my own rhythms.
Finishing my own thoughts before I have them.
I wonder... is all life in service to a voice?
Do we find meaning in this?
The voice of family... the voice of God or country... our own voice, if we find it so entertaining.
I do not.
For all the good words I surround myself with, my life lacks any voice other than my own.
It isn't enough.
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