They whisper in my ear or slide up my skin. Slink through my brain or flash in my eyes. Linger on my tongue or waft to my nose. I can hear them and feel them, think them, see them, taste them, smell them. Sometimes they desert me completely, leaving my heart barren, my soul broken, and me reaching out, desperately trying to sieze them. Sometimes they cover me, intruding upon every crevice, taking my attention away from all else.
It can be very intimate, the relationship a writer has with her words...