it took a long time to build them all up. foundation. basement. floor upon floor. rising. teetering. rooftop. and then it just took one small thing for that tower of words to crash down and out. like a volcano. or an avalanche. crushing people. covering every single thing in its headlong pursuit of escape. or maybe it wasn't so small.
sometimes, when you've stored up words for a long time, your ability to discern size is revoked. same as when you see your reflection and, no matter what the surface, it seems like a funhouse mirror. even when you aren't in the funhouse. even when there isn't any fun in your house. even when there hasn't been any fun in the house for so long you hardly know what fun is anyway.
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