The heart truly aches, swells with ideas that don’t seek expression as much as release. The pressure builds with every passing word — the gems of language and insight that we let slip, literally, from our fingers.
And when at last we hold them, mere butterfly wings, our hearts ache again. To be given the chance — indeed, the privilege — to shape and string them into words is to enter into an agreement not so much with our readers but with ourselves. We agree to let life touch us and let ourselves, like lovers, return the caress.