about the words inside my head.

If I were born deaf, would they be there?

I might care even more about words than the average writer. I don’t care as much about typographical errors. I try to wrestle errors down when I am able, but it’s the words and how they fit together that turn me on. . . . I like the way they look on the screen and on paper. I like the way they sound in my head as I think them.

I think about what individual words mean. Words like know, understand, comprehend — I spend time deciding which one to use. Sometimes I go for the musical ones — despicable sounds like a drummer drumming, sincerity sounds a tango is ready to begin.

I keep a Special Categoy, a healing place, for the words that need their meaning back . . . Most have suffered the torture of being locked onto holiday cards. peace, joy, compassion. forgiveness, joy. greetings, good will

Words connect us and with the sound of voices. We use them to seal our pacts. I do. I love you. I promise. All of those are more than words.

Words explain what we do and who we are.

Love, hope, destiny, conversation, imagination, creativity, freedom. understanding, faith, brave kind

We are so hungry to be heard. We sometimes talk about anything.

Sometimes people listen to the words we say.

I read that. . . . People born deaf have no words. If they learn sign that’s the language of how they think. The signs are their words. They even sign in their sleep.

I don’t suppose people born deaf feel brave or alone without words inside their heads. Yet I imagine they still have the same wish to be heard.

Brave and vulnerable is what it takes to stand tall when so many people can’t stop to listen to our most important words.

What happens to our words when we forget to listen?