I enjoy both conversation and quiet. Two completely opposite things yet both hold extreme value to me. I am a writer. Us writers love words and the constant flow of them is what keeps us alive. Makes us happy. I feel that the best gift that can be given is the gift of conversation, anything with words.
That has been lacking for me as of late. Not in the general mundane aspect. In the deep, penetrating, challenging and unforgettable way. I understand not everyone possesses that innate ability to maximum capacity but it is within anyone to at least fucking try. The bar I set may be aimed too high perhaps. I expect too much from others. Which is why I often turn to writing and allow my own words to keep me company when others consistently fail at doing so.
I have concluded that words are the bread of life for my soul. If I lack them, I provide them for my own but it gets tiring feeling as if you are repeating the same thing over and over. You get tired of waiting for others to get the hint. Because if they actually knew you as well as they say they do, they would actually attempt to talk to you. Get to the root of the problem. Not turn a blind eye or be so completely fucking oblivious.
– Writer From Jersey