#Words

I miss putting words to paper, rather than a screen.

I miss the writing of love letters, of pens and quills, of parchment and paper.

The words in ink carried far more weight, they drew themselves with character.

The hands behind them true to their meaning, they knew the fuses and the bombs they lit.

Words once carried with them a reverence, a respected understanding that this has meaning.

Now we simply press a button, this monotonous action of up and down.

Dampening emotion, and minimizing text.

Words carry no weight, at least not for the writer. 

All the letters carry bits and  bytes, all the words with no weight are wielded far easier than those weighed down with pen.

From the indentations on the paper to the contextual flatness of the screen. 

Paper and pen was the heartbeat of our morality, it carried with it the life blood of the soul.

They were forced to be more real because they were written and not typed, created not repeated. 

Letters were individual, a fingerprint of the person to whom they belonged. 

Love letters, were blue prints of the heart, carried love genuinely on teardrop stains and star-gazedly etched letters.  

We wrote them wholly and contemplated each and every line.

We knew the cost of ink. 

Now, we tweet with raw emotion. Post with complete disregard.

We bury ourselves in images yet never truly see.

We have the universe contained within the palm of our hands, yet never learn.

I wish to love like we used to, permanent and detailed.

Written and created, with effort and ferocity.

Not with monotony and hollowness.

Exhausting and honest, with hardship and spacing.

The words once paved the ways to the heart and spurred entire generations to action.

How do they inspire now? So much more connected and yet constantly in isolation.

Our eyes forever down, when the sky is just above our heads.