Each letter on its own, singular in its presence, distinctly strikes the page. 

A single letter, one of 26 forming the alphabet, joins characters placed moments before in an irregular rhythm. The pattern builds as each letter forms another word. It culminates in a sentence, and then one more. Word by word, a thought that minutes ago was simply floating in the ether becomes a reality. 

Each letter has strength, but joined with others a power takes hold and ascends into deeper thought. A stronger sentence lays down its humility next to another. Punctuation dictates the pace. The resulting paragraph takes you further as if an explanation or decree.

There is meaning in the madness that has unfolded. Until now.

After several sentences (perhaps even a couple of paragraphs), there is a point where the writer and the reader become one. The attention of each participant finds a commonality that may well diverge into separate meaning. 

To each its own. 

A word, statement, or stanza may pull each person towards another meaning; we all experience life differently or interpret our actions separately from others. Like a letter.

Always, there is more to write. Nothing is complete; that is both the beauty and the curse of the written word. We want more. Always.

Explanations are rarely accurate; truthful yes, but something is always missing. Or too much is said that it cannot hold attention. Morals shift, mistakes are only natural, yet we crave a more definite approach.

Details are so telling.

Say what you mean, mean what you say; to write it out is a commitment. 

These are your thoughts, now, in this time, at your pleasure. The words may change, as will the writer, but in that very specific moment a realization is made or met.

It is truth, and it tells so much. 

© 2026 j.g. lewis