Touch is thrilling, but I am putty in the hands of beautiful writing.
While I was skimming through blogsites for distraction, I came across one that blew me away. The style is evocative and sincere--- a treat amid blogs that seem propelled by the pressure of production rather than inspiration. The blogger claims that he writes only about bits and pieces of this and that but, oh, the manner...
He elevates rambling to an art form. He explores conventional definitions of ideas and challenges me.
He asks, though under no duress, I am slave to the question. The answers come to me in trickles, incomplete and lacking clarity, but I feel that the journey is as exciting as the epiphany.
He asks, like he's trying to get into my head by way of casually typed and carelessly punctuated phrases, and manages to probe so much deeper--- a feat so discomfiting for its logical impossibility.
I respond warmly to touch, if it's invited or expected. Words, however, send shivers up my spine like a gentle caress. I am moved.
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