Thoughts tumble out as we move, like ghosts in the air desperate to be seen. Loose and aimless, crying to not just be written, but read. To be seen, spoken, heard. Touched by eyes, by the sweep of a rapt finger. Scenes and faces sparked to life in other minds, attached to other perceptions and emotions, given meaning, given worth, given community. By being written, rooted and grown. By being read.