tommy's hands fly along the keyboard, letters combining and creating, only to be erased out of his displeasure. he sits, and tries and tries to get the words to come out right (they come out wrong, though. its something he finds that will always happen and always will) so that his thoughts are perfectly captured, a strand of his thoughts flowing out of his hands that tap on blinking letters, weaving the fabric and setting the pattern that makes up words and sentences, that make up millions of paragraphs and monologues, that then create millions of strands of others' consciousness that made words. words were being strung together to create something beautiful and real; creating a blade that could be as sharp as steel, or as soft as talc.

it also supposes that words can hurt. words are dangerous, it had written, and oh how right it was (it used to believe sickly sweet words that were coated in hate; it still believed that the words it were told so very often, much like a mantra, were true. it supposes, now, that its just oh so hard to finally realize when somethings wrong when all you've ever wanted was to believe you were normal). words were a dagger, and so words were a danger. it hates when words, beautiful /beautiful/ words are used for something other than create. it has seen words be used to tear people down; it has seen words be used to send messages, messages that it had hoped and prayed and wishes won't be that persons last (it likes to keep those words in its mind, as a reminder. a reminder of the fact that it failed her. and, it then remembers the what-ifs. because what-if its classmate, its peer, heck, its brother wasn't caught with a r4z@r to the throat? its brother went to the icu, it thinks. doesn't know, though, because the brother never talks about that time. it later learns that wasn't the first attempt. it hates the casual joking that some make about su1c1d3. it never mentions that, though)

if words were a weapon, couldn't words be a healing too? star finds comfort in the simplicity and the usability of words. they comfort star, when ave is in aves worst moments. (even now, as a sibling stresses over the fact that they were put in the wrong class, and panic because why was their schedule messed up? their mother tries to fix it) words were a weapon, yes, but words were one of caw's comforts, too. star likes to say star has got an ‘aptitude’ for words, dwelling on their wordings and slowly, carefully, caw structures the letters together, in an attempt to create art, and in an attempt to rebuild and reform; to help them get over and away from avis past and look ahead to stars future. ('but its okay to look back' caw reminds cawself. ‘just as long as you move forward, just a bit, that means that you’re still making progress.') words were, in a way, caws way of coping.

and now, she realizes; the world was full of uncertanites, and betrayal, and cruelty, and @b^5e… but it was her world. her world to try to improve, peers beside her. it was her world to tend to, it was her world to explore. in this world, everyone was usually seen as no one; just a background, a distraction. but, she saw them as someone, real and whole and while most would ignore her drabble; she knew some would listen, and that those who listened might learn. and in this point in time, in this room of hers, she realized, and remembered, “home is where the heart is.”

…and if she was not home, well, that was at her own disclosure. 'cause at least she had her friends.

…and this monologue