I’ve forgotten what that word means. I’ve forgotten how it feels to see the cuckoo hopping four times out of the beaten clock, light streaming from the backdrop.

iTunes U getting downloaded in the iPad.

An empty plate with bread crumbs and remnants of a Belgian chocoshot.

Two books, and Game of Thrones not far away from my pillow.

My phone, careless strewn around, in a cheap and colourful plastic case.

My eyes, alert rather than dazed, the early morning hours feeling like a continuation of the previous night.

Make words, not.

Where did all the words go?

They were sitting here at dawn; rearranging themselves with time, age, and wisdom. I let them go, over an angsty fight. They followed me back into the study hall, where studying was imperative and musing in text was not. Nevertheless, I texted you.

They died while I cried fresh tears of disappointment, then hurt, then realisation. They cried when I sighed, as they were repeatedly ground. They stopped meaning things. They stopped sounding how they were supposed to feel.

Where did all the words go?

Where did we go?