Open the caged-up mind and release inner contemplations, thoughts tell us. We long for liberation. We want to relish on paper and remain etched in black and white. Concepts are our strength and paper our manifestation. "We long for our own legacies," thoughts think, "our own glow in the world." Thoughts often wonder and ask us, "What is it like to be able to convey so smoothly, to not rely on the unreliable for articulation?" But we are all too shy and do not answer so deep a question so quickly. "It's like music." we eventually muster, "It's like music, and each idea a lyric that simply meshes with the instruments like honey mixing with water." "Oh," thoughts think, but they are not thoroughly impressed. "I do not believe you are trying hard," a particularly smart thought says, "Push yourself," he insists. "It's like wind, and blood, and earth. Like salted water, and air and laughter," we suggest. "Oh," the thought sighs. Finally impressed, he pats my back complimentary.