There are days when it is as if I am possessed by words themselves, concepts pressed into the mind as the last autumn leaf presses itself into the freshly fallen snow. I do not seek them out, rather they come upon me as a long-forgotten scent, wafting through the jumbled maze of thoughts. I stumble across such golden threads, feeling along the edges as if to tether myself to their varigations that I may follow the twisted labyrinth to where, I am unsure. But I know it's a place I want to go. Each word is its own nexus, stops along a secret path. Each thinly spun filament a fluttering web within. Some people are like that, you know. Nodes, points that connect, not to other people, but to other rooms within. An unseen hallway triggered, or perhaps tendrils exploring an unnamed space.
