Words become a persona. They take the place of an understanding hand on your arm or a tired smile on a satisfying day. They become a juggling act. They jostle for position, push against each other and stomp on toes to get a front row seat. They keep their elbows up and sharpened. They give up and hang at the back — too cool for you. The persona becomes a skin, adhered and hardening against our minds. We are these words. Every day.
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- I have discovered the appeal of going to a restaurant and having a meal alone: sangria and not having to share the house-made salsa. 2 days ago
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