The word is weightless. Like snow. At the touch of hot hands, fragile ice snowflakes melt, lose their pristine beauty and turn into the simplest drop of water. So it is with the word in speech. Say it, and only then think and see how beautiful, poetic words turn into water. They are light and beautiful only on paper.

And, perhaps, from the mouths of people who really know how to speak. People like John Keating or Charlie Dalton.

An inspired you runs into the room, slamming the door a little, reading your text of the play aloud with ecstasy. loudly, with all soul, putting a piece of soul into every word. Todd himself freezes, listening to this melodious, folding voice, sonorous timbre and solemn intonation. Anderson listens to you attentively, almost looking right into your mouth, hoping to understand how you makes his heart flutter just from the voice and the sight of a happy roommate.

To his horror, he realizes exactly how and why. From fear and excitement, there is an unpleasant pull under the ribs and everything curls into a knot.

Jumping onto your roommate’s bed without the slightest hesitation and waiting for his reaction, your eyes are fixed on his own in agonizing anticipation.

But Todd won't say anything. He just won't be able to, as he always has.

Yeah, even to his own parents, he could not express all that had been lurking in his soul for years. An unloved, absolutely unwanted child, in the shadow of his successful older brother, meant nothing to them.

Words are an empty sound. He’s pathetic.