The fullest words are woven with silence . . .
What makes a letter?
The height, breadth of strokes?
Or the area that surrounds it?
Or the area that surrounds it?
Naturally, they need one another.
The Nothing that hugs every vulnerable edge of the Something, giving it form.
Yet how often are we mindful of that space . . . of silence?
Our world brims with things. Unless we’re cognizant of the pause
between the stuff
we’re left with something not worth reading—illegible chatter
We need space to break up the monotony of form.
And what if we could learn to focus on that space?
How would our perception of the world change?
What would we find?
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