Maybe it is an intricacy that defines itself. Maybe it’s just… words. Wonderful working words meshed together as well as I can manage and at any given time. Maybe it’s… good. Maybe it’s… seriously askew in a literary instance. Maybe it’s… beautiful and maybe it’s… definitely me. Maybe it’s everything my creative mind has ever dreamt of creating. Actually, that’s not a maybe. It definitely is just that thing. Maybe it’s just… magical, maybe it’s carefree and focused at the exact same pulsating time. Maybe, just maybe… it has the ability to let certain people feel the things that they don’t usually get to feel otherwise, and maybe it’s error-strewn on purpose because I wanted it that particular way, to wake the layout of the lines up some-more and away from the mundane form. Maybe it’s conceited and maybe it’s confident and maybe it’s cocky, even, and maybe it… has it very own way with words. Maybe it’s shaking the whole literary thing up… just for me really. And maybe it’s… the most wonderful and mighty massage of the effing mind for someone with OCD, however silly that thing sounds to say. Because that hand right there in the portrait above? That’s what I’m trying to match with regards a reader’s visual takeaway via an entirely literary approach to things. That level of visual… pulsation?