I used to believe that a person could live just on words, and I still believe it, just not completely. How could I have forgotten all the little things that go behind words, the meanings, the experience? What would a 'morning' mean to a person who has never seen a morning, never felt the cool air at odds with the gradually warming sunshine, never heard the sound of a city just breathing? And that the word 'morning' means different things to different people?

But there are still days when I feel like locking myself in a tall dark tower with lamps and no windows and tall and long rows of things to read, accessible by spindly ladders, and paper to scribble on, and never using my voice for fear that a single puff would dispel the calm there. And there is no door.

But that place doesn't exist, and I'm not there now, and I have to go for an AIESEC meeting.