I Belive in Beautiful Words

Naturally, I don’t say anything if there is nothing that means enough to me be said. With words, even if people may be set in their ways, their mind so stable and planted that it might as well be a dried flower glued in cement, there is still a way to change minds, no matter how fragile the ideas may be. That is something to be said.

Because, when things paint beautiful pictures, and when something so sharp and diagonal cuts right to a thought, memory or feeling, than sometimes you realize that you could be completely and utterly wrong about something. I feel like there are very few things in the world that can do just that.

Spoken words, for example, are an entirely different species from written words. Someone can preach an idea, and after their words have been said, and the sentences have been stopped, you might just realize that while during the speech those words sounded beautiful and meaningful, afterwards, they were all just a façade, and that person was simply just good at saying things.

When words are on paper, however, the facts are all right there, in the very most whole way something can be. You get the chance to analyze them all, and you get to see the flaws. I can see more emotion in words on paper, more feeling and raw material than I see when people cite them aloud.

Words can also make ugly, harsh things seem like beautiful things. I could write three short sentences about a trash can, and hopefully, by the time you were done reading what I had wrote, that trash can seemed to have more emotions and more splendor than the trash cans you see daily.

Words are something that can be shared, but be completely your own at the same time. I’m only eleven, and rightly so, I don’t really have something that I’m fully wonderful at. With words, I have something that makes me feel so very special and original. Theoretically, words and ideas cannot be stolen from you. They will always be solely yours, no one else felt your emotions and shades of versatility like you did, and no thief can take that away.

I find that I can not only give joy to myself, but to others, too when I write my stories. Writing makes me feel connected to everyone around me, it’s more intimate than just letters, and more structured than splotched feelings. It lets me become closer to others around me, in ways that aren’t easily achieved with a smile and a small exchange. People listen to what I have to say when my beliefs are on paper.

I can have the most horrid of days of my life, and if I can write down the words of how I feel, to release them and make my day seem outright and charismatic, then my day doesn’t seem nearly as bad. I know everyone recites that, but it’s absolutely true for me. I can’t think of a time when writing didn’t seem to make things at least just a little bit better.

Writing is a way to paint pictures without requiring absolutely any paint at all. And for us art challenged, it’s a way to illustrate things in a way that colors our thoughts just as brightly. I feel that when my feelings are written, they are given even more respect, it makes me feel important and valuable. Writing is freedom in my head, constitution are not, when I have words on my side, I have the power to tell you how my mind works.

I don’t think I could live without words, this I believe.