as an avid reader always with a book and pen in hand, swallowing pages and underlining sentences and scribbling comments on the margins, my head spends hours bent down with the vertebrae of my neck spiking up like the back of a dinosaur. the muscles of my shoulders and upper back are very often stiff from the words that i take in and the words that i’m trying to send to commute from my soul to my hand. from the continuous reading and frequent writing, my head sometimes feels heavy, and it makes it feel as though my shoulders are carrying me, not my legs. those are parts of myself that i take pride in, parts of my life that are precious to the extent of sacredness, only because they combine taking in and giving out in the form of words. this gives meaning to my life and vibrance to my existence, and for that the eternalness of my gratitude somehow expands every single day.