i am good with words. i'm not saying this to brag, to boast, to prove to you how excellent i am. it's just a fact: i am very good with words. i like writing them, i like reading them, i like saying them. i like when they are strung together like pretty pearls to form sentences that change the way the world appears, if only for a moment.

you are very good with words. not so much writing them, maybe, but you speak eloquently and you enjoy reading as much as i do, which is to say that you would rather read than breathe. 

i saw you for the second time since we've started whatever it is we're doing and you said 'hi' and i couldn't find words. i couldn't find air in my lungs and i couldn't make my tongue move enough to articulate anything. 

i finally said 'hello'.

i like words that sound like what they are. words like 'lovely', which sounds like lace and summer afternoons and picnics and sunrises. you now use the word 'lovely', tangible proof of my impact on you. 

all i have of you is your words. that sounds silly, to have built a person from strings of meaningless symbols, letters, and it's even more ridiculous to have fallen for such a person that exists almost entirely within the context of such words. but i have. does that make me silly, stupid?

maybe. 

you use words very well. i know the depths of your affection for her, i know your goals and dreams, i know what you find humorous. i know you, and i only know that because of those precious words you share with me.

sometimes they cut right through me, sad sentences that make me desperate to offer you more than words, to give you physical contact to remind you that it's okay to be sad sometimes.

you make me feel like words aren't enough.

i love words, and i'm good at using them. but you make me doubt all that and maybe it's for the better.

maybe you're for the better.

-super owl