Words are magical.
I was reading a letter that I had created for a friend a while ago when that realization just suddenly came to me. I was struck by the fact that there were so many words on the letter that I never imagined I could have written, words that do not seem to register in my head. Also, I had not expected to have certain impression when I re-read it again, but I did.
A single word obviously can speak for itself since in it contains the whole meaning and emotion. Having said that, a word is actually no different than symbol. The strength upon which a symbol imposes strictly depends on the message that life wants to deliver at the present moment. Thus, when we read a word, it may carry the burden similar to what was carried by a bleeding saint dragging a big and heavy cross on his shoulders, but on other circumstances the same word may just be as light as a flying dust from a long unworn pillow.
I used to think that the weight of a word was determined by the writer. But I believe now that I was wrong. Just like when an impression imposed by a word to a reader depends on what life intends to deliver at that moment, the same thing goes to the process of writing the word down.
The fact that a word is chosen and not the other is more the work of the universe than the author. The author is just a writer, not the real composer. The writer may come up with a framework of a story or article, but the process of filling it in depends more on the ability to open up oneself to receive inspiration, which is a manifestation of universal intellect. A writer is merely a transitory point with the single responsibility of jotting down what comes.
In that sense, the universe is an unspoken story that wants to be told. And words are created just for that. And when words are carrying that purpose, they are no longer a collection of alphabets but have transformed into beings. They are alive.