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Let the words flow onto the page, gushing and free they dance a story on the paper.
They run and jump, adjectives and verbs, mingle and party on the page.
The letters and words can write anything they want, tragedy, comedy, romance, but they are all the same words, just re-arranged.
They dance different dances to make up feelings, choreographing to the music of the mind that writes them.
They can be wild or tame, thoughtlessly scrawled or so slowly thought of that they seemingly crawled.
Onto the page they come in pairs, groups of swaying flowing letters.
Some dance stiff, strait and tall, some dance loose and conformable.
Some dance without a care, just dancing and moving across the page, free to express themselves.
Some dance rigid and cautious, seeming to look before they dance, only prancing to tunes that their audiences approve.
They never get tired, and most of them are unknown, mysteries to the human eye, though they still belong.
Any group of letters can be a word, a language, a song, a story unheard.
Even if it is made up, well aren't they all?
if they weren't made up, there would be no dancing, running words on the page at all.