Math has never really been my thing. I’m not awful at it, I just don’t like it much. Numbers have their uses, of course, such as to tell me how many words I’ve written or how much money is in my bank account, but they have no feeling behind them. They simply relay information, and that’s it.

That’s why I love words. Words have such power. When’s the last time you saw someone moved to tears by numbers? Probably never, unless it was over a math problem on a test they just couldn’t figure out. Words, on the other hand, have enormous value and weight. They can and (I would argue) have changed the world, and at the very least lives of individuals. Sometimes their weight is oppressive and negative, dragging you down. Other times they are buoyant and light, lifting you up. Either way, they change things.

Words can also be therapeutic in a way that I don’t think numbers can ever be. There’s something about putting words on a page that makes you feel like they somehow understand you, because you can make them say just what you need them to. You can fill them with all sorts of things that numbers cannot hold. They are beautiful, poetic, important.

I don’t know that I can properly convey the richness of words. I can’t help myself–I love them. What better way to appreciate them than to fill pages with me? Or, in this case, a post.

Til next time…


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