You never really know what you’ve said until you say it out loud, until it gets out there and lingers in the air for a moment and then all the small meanings and thoughts associated with it start to latch on and cling on to it until it becomes a whole finite detached being of bitterness and resentment. And you really don’t know what you’ve just created. That is the deceit of words, it’s paradoxical anatomy. Small words but such heavy meanings.
