Sat on my bed reading my book while F tells me on msn about her disaster at making paper dolls simply because she used rice glue instead of special glue thus resulting in the raising of the paper overlaps? She tells me about her life at O, the love between two cartoonish characters, the hordes of the barbaric surging forth to crush the air she gasps for, the people she avoids, the essays, the work, the exams and I listen.

I told L, in a way I am just words. Did I really mean that? I guess when I have met her, I have seen her, I have feasted with her, I have spoken to her, i have listened. I am no longer just words. I am more than that. For a while, it hurts when she said I am just words. Emotional hurt is strange. It hurts just once, the right verbal combination that draws blood. You can't use that same tactic, that same weapon again. It is not physical hurt, when blood will always flow.

I am sitting on my bed, in my room, with my four walls, and my world is not through my window but through a screen, and the life in this world, are just words, moving changing deleting. Sometimes, I wonder whether its better that people remain just words. When people go beyond words, the capacity for hurt, pain and injury increases. Words are controllable, its within my grasp, within the scope of the power I have with the keyboard in front of me.

I have a strange relationship with words. My first love started with words and ended with words. When she vanished from the world of words, the words still live, as i cling on to it, I stay on hoping that one day she will return to the world I have, and I can smite her with words. Dreams, delusions, Nightmares, words. Perhaps I stay hoping that I will find love in words.

Love. L O V E, perhaps, its just a word as well.