Author's Note: This is the physical embodiment of thoughts of what I've been pondering for as long as I can remember.
What really are words? Just sound combinations that our minds take in as they mean something? Or are they actual things? What is really happening when we write? Writing is a thing that on so many levels is personal should not be shared yet if we don't stretch our boundries we will never improve. How can this delacate balance be kept? Writing is our wishes, dreams, and expieriences in our words to tell to those that we will never know or see. What are books but just organized splotches of ink that is taken to be more than it really is? So simple but the meanings behind the ink could be so complicated and knowing. How are we to know what to take to heart, what to take with a grain of salt, and what to completely throw to the side of the road?
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
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