There’s a weakness that comes from words. A full-bodied, soul weary weakness.
A mind-stewing fatigue of thought that seeps into hollow limbs and digits, rendering them immovable. It makes unsure steps, shaking hands and dull, tired brows. It shortens breath, makes sluggish eyelids and knees tremble beneath the burden.
The recovery from such languor being sleep – sleep for days in a dark room with tear-streaked cheeks and soppy pillows. A flattened, dreamless, endless pit of sleep and silence seamlessly blending dusks and dawns. It is sleep or possibly a stiff drink at inappropriate intervals until the weight is lightened or lifted. Often, still, there is not as much energy as there once was, and shall never be again.
How heavy some words can be.