Words. Simple short meaningless words. We say billions and billions of words in our lifetimes, but are any of them even worth saying? The less you say, the more poignant those words are. What if I never utter another word? My dying word could be extremely poignant, or it could be some meaningless shit like 'Rosebud'. Writing; putting these words together in differing patterns and phrases and languages and colloquialisms, and what does it all come to? Words get lost in action. Words dying their last breath on stage. Words are hurried in texts, they’re spluttered over coffee, they’re giggled away by teenage girls and they fill the awkward space between meeting someone and leaving them again. Silence. Silence feels nice, it feels clean and simple and pure. It feels natural. Did humans just invent words to seem more clever, when in fact it proves our inadequacy? These words that form questions that plague our minds, drive people insane, create imaginary circumstances and future possibilities for the people of now and here to worry and panic about. Words seem to just spawn hate and evil. But we love them, because without words, we’re simply apes, picking the flees off each other’s backs, fighting in the wild and mating for pride. We’re not apes: we’re apes with words.