Words are boxes stuffed with memories. I wonder if its the reason we describe them as “heavy” sometimes;
and it’s all good until you end up in a cluttered room full of them, trying to find your way around.
You spend half a life filling them up and another half – unpacking them in every way possible. You are lucky if somewhere along the way you learn how to unclutter yourself eloquently, then you get called a poet, an artist, and so on…
but if not – well, then you end up with a ship that is too heavy to travel anywhere. So you stand on that ship and dream of a journey and horizon beyond while being motionless.
