Break down what I am saying now. It is nothing but vowels interspersed with consonants, alphabets repeating themselves intermittently, each trying to form part of a larger story.
Words make us understood; words make us most easily misunderstood. Words bring so much joy, the effort someone takes to line up individual fragments and construct a beautiful story that is forever imprinted in our minds. Yet words are the wicked thorns that curl around our hearts and breed in them seedlings of resentment, what lash at us so freely and unrelentingly to leave scars that never heal. Words destroy; words heal. Words breed love; words breed hate. Eventually I will use too many words or none at all, lingering in middle ground where I will feel no joy or pain.
(She started, but then she stopped, because words brought too much pain.)