I love them. I think I have been in love with them all along. Mid-life crisis notwithstanding. Love to tease them, play with them, roll them around to see how they ..er..roll… and best of all i love to hear them. Hear them cackle with glee when they are pronounced a certain way, smile when they get the right tone, nod sagely when they are delivered with the weight they need… I love to make love to them, leave a mark on them before they go out there and I lose control of them. Yes. I am sure as I can ever be… I love words and I love giving voice to them.
But I don’t love them enough to bury myself in their place and time of birth and the complications of who parented them or who their close relations are. Be that as it may.. they are here.. with me for the moment .. and that’s all that matters…
And like a true artist I love them for the sake of them and am not unduly worried about whether the babies I create with them will be cared for by listeners, whether they will make a name for themselves in the annals of reading history.
And because they mean so much to me I refuse to see they are not as important to many. That what they say and how they say it should not be read so much into. That every pause, every slant, every syllable is not laden with meaning and intent! And they mean it when they say “Oh! That’s not what I really meant!”
Ah well… it takes all kinds 🙂