maduca21

and it is for words and by words my soul was made, for the understanding for their sound in my mouth. every syllable was meant to be pronounced with the pitch of my toungue and the highs and lows of my voice. I write no to understand myself but to pursue my happiness and i as many others dont have any idea of what goes on in my head. My words are the complete and total recopilation of my intentions, my reasons and my abbillity to say nothing and say everything all at once. How easy it would be for me to tell someone by words that i love them, that life would have no meaning without them, but in most cases my words dont come in handy, they are only words, and i am only a girl, words do not do much for anyone who tries to create a life for his own enjoymen.our life was meant to love, to give, to experience, to forgive, words… words… words will only represent our own histories, portryaed in shelfs and boxes of the dozens of things we have written in post-its, laptops, notebooks and notepads the infinite amount of surfaces available for our own inequivilant use and yet we say we dont write. but we cant call that writting because we can only call it writting when we reveal something about ourselves, reveal your trye self don not be contained,let the people know the wonders of your soul the wonders of your being and you will be trully happy