Is it a company of letters put together by a set of rules/roles
as the world dictated it to be?

Is it something that should always be right;
whose usage should be exact as measurements are
following agreements and syntax acceptable to those who say it?

Is it a perfection, no picture could ever paint, or describe, or analyze, or put a meaning to?

Is it beauty so definite that no space is left for misuse and, what we humans are best capable of doing, mistakes and disappointments?

A word.

A word is history. Archaic and more ancient than those used in books to tell a story of a war your father won and of how you came to be.
It has lived a million lives, and it is still alive.

A word is science, so precise in measure that a single punctuation or misplaced letter would give a totally different meaning to what you meant to convey.

A word is language. A need to communicate. Something the mind invented out of frustration for the lack of means to tell someone how you really feel. Grunts and actions of cavemen were fine, by the way. However, how can you say, “Let’s all meet at noon to discuss our upcoming move to the next mountain because we need a safer place to stay.” in caveman language? Hence, the words. One by one.

A word is as universal as math. As exact. As concise. For words can be a solution to every possible problem. Life will give you lengths and distances and speed, but none of those matter, because with words, you will get there. Life may pose a parallelism wherein you are never meant to cross paths with someone at all, or a hyperbola, where you get closer and closer yet never meet at all, or a couple of skew lines that meet at one point in time, but never meet again. To that, I have a word. Oh, just screw it.

A word is like a picture. Some claim though that a picture is worth more than just a word (it’s worth more than a thousand words, to be exact – as they say). I cannot tell. But if a picture is but enough, there wouldn’t be a need for any word at all. Picture this: a glass filled with water, or your choice of whatever liquid substance — the substance taking the form of its glass. A word — ever-changing. Adaptive. It embraces change of culture, of society, and of a person, yet its history sticks to its feet. It’s as exciting as a new adventure each day. A stranger being welcomed into a new community, without the judgments. That is how it has lived on this long.

It can be a gentle breeze that rouses emotion and touches your heart. An expression of something you cannot do. A promise. An information. An agreement. A challenge that requires action, or a question of your ability. A meaning, or your journey to search for it. A hope.

A word. Something that can set everything straight. Something that brought us together.

Or, as that of a raging wind brought about by a strong typhoon of emotion, it can also break relationships. Its sharp edges can break you and me.

But when words fail, music remains. Sit beside me and listen.
Let me hum to you what my heart cannot say. A word, no more.


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