Connecting with words as if they are alive. Words are a fickle friend. When I take a break and then return, I am not met with warmth; no, I am given the cold shoulder. I have to prove my loyalty once again. Some days I wonder if I will ever regain my friend's trust. I usually do. But during a dry spell, I agonize that my dear friend will not forgive my absence this time; leaving me mute and all alone. But this friend of mine doesn't hold a grudge forever, just for a little while I must suffer while my friend withholds its love. Just long enough for me to fill with regret and remorse for having ever left. I want to return. I long to return. Although I know that I will leave again one day.