Words.

Why do you write? What's the need behind all the words? - I asked a story writer some time back. He did not answer, and anyways I guess the question was rather addressed to myself than to anybody else.
Why do we write, paint, dance, act out those hidden most thoughts, frustrations and desires? What makes us open up the windows to the soul and invite others to explore the most intimate parts of it?
Emotional exhibitionism? Prophesysing? Entertainment? Creative therapy?

I recently read an article that said that in today's world words seized to be meaningful. That communication in the modern world had been reduced to interpersonal games, formal social exchanges and informational language.
But words have so much of power. Spoken words reach us much faster, but they are ephemeral, they last only in the present. Written words are heavier, as if the thought process behind putting them on paper gave them more weight. Sometimes we think that they are too heavy for us to carry. And sometimes they touch us so much that we wish to keep them forever. They will remain with us unchanged, while the spoken words will change inside us, even if remembered they will constantly undergo the processes of forgetting.
Words have so much of power. Both written and spoken word have so much of power to hurt and power to heal. Words hurt much more than bruises. Black eye and bruises heal within few days, but the wounds that words cause are much deeper, even though invisible to the eyes... But there are also those words that have magical power to heal, to bring smile to children hidden inside our souls, to make the dry trees blossom in the middle of winter, they cover us like a patchwork quilt on a cold night. Everybody needs them, but often when we come across them we get scared and don't know what to do with them. And very often we find many such words inside us, but we are unable to bring them out because of the fear that someone might turn them into stones and throw them back at us.

I started writing because I didn't know how to paint, and I wanted to paint because I wanted you to see who I have become while being so far from you. And now you know it even without me writing. Do you remember - you used to say - if you want to talk to me just think about me and I will know... I think I stopped thinking about you some time back, but the words remained. And these words are precious. Each of them so different from the other. Each of the words with a different colour, shape, tone, touch... Each time I say "I miss you" my feelings have different colour. Dark blue sky at dusk, blue see on a sunny day, green leaves, orange peels, light tea, milk...  until one day they will become transparent... like you and me.