Dear Reader:
All these sentences I write to you, cure me.
These words coat the wounds in sugar, or honey? Something decadent.
It is thick and shiny, it is a healing salve. Rich and lustrous, it clings to the raw edges and it softens.
But without you, there is nothing as such.
Without you, there is no language—just inscriptions. Meaning arises only when you read these words. Your reception is what assigns these words meaning,
and they become language.
See, you have to understand that I am mosaic of data, and language is how organize it, how I make sense of it.
Raw material, at first, and I have to shape it here on this page.
Sculpt it, refine it, and then present it to you.
There’s an alchemy in this process—a transformation of things once lost and suffused in me, now extracted into something whole, something tangible, and so, shareable.
I gathered and gave form to what lies within me, and in your receiving, meaning was born.
Look at it so shiny and complete as I hand it to you.
And what I made for you: I made of you. Each sentence assembled at the anticipation of your glance, paragraphs crafted for your reading.
And through this, you have become a part of me, as much as I am of you. Language is a thread between us,
something we can both hold.
[The song below inspired this piece]Ever yours,
Marwa
“Look at it so shiny and complete as I hand it to you.
And what I made for you: I made of you.” 😭