on four months, four hours-

they spoke of words and the way they can mend. the way they can cut deeper than a thousand daggers, and the point of it all. the point of separate mother tongues, a hundred plus land masses all sharing the same earth. and then of love. how it transcends all of those languages, all of those territories. 

they spoke of purpose, of meaning...what is an interaction with another human being if it ought not change you? ought not make you more or less of what you were- than you are? what does it mean to listen- they were so used to speaking.


she learned laughter and the warmness of a smile from an egyptian. she learned wisdom and the importance of sincerity from a south african. four hours can make all the difference. 


four.






there's something about that number...


four months.                                              four hours.




her world has been forever changed by moments of four.

And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.

For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words

 may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

-Khalil Gibran