I open up instagram and stare at the little bubble hovering over the paper plane with an ominous 13 inside it, a poison apple ready to crash-land with its motley passengers straight into my awareness. ‘Hey, here we are, those words waiting for a response. ‘ I can almost hear them screaming already. Or maybe that is just me.

That must be what has happened to most of the words in the world, leaving such long pauses and empty silences. They’ve crashed, or stumbled. I’m sure some died before they even made it out, and for others…well…I like to think they’re wrapped in warm contemplation.  

Perhaps the lost art of letter-writing will cultivate a better trajectory, one that ventures beyond the rote skylines formed by 128 characters or the blank seas of smalltalk.  Instead of a poorly folded platitude, I hope to offer you a budding prompt. Please water it well. I truly believe it could bloom into a new story, one that perhaps could house all those orphan words withering in their unspoken quarantine.