You open us up and read our words, never ending chaos spread across the torn and coffee stained pages. You want to organize this chaos into neat little lines in perfectly spaced rows. Our words reveal our darkest secrets and our most treasured thoughts. You try to dissect and rip them into shreds, wanting desperately to twist them until they conform to your standards and “how things should be.” You can’t. They cannot be copied or pasted for your amusement. You cannot revise the words just because they are not what you wanted. Every sentence is a part of us. They will not be dipped in honey and sprinkled with sugar, darling. If you don’t like it, put us back in the same spot you found us. Someone else will pick us up and love every sentence, every word, every letter that we are made of.