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?

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