There are no words. We just make sounds at each other, among others, by ourselves. There are no words. We are in our corners we made. Each cornered, making sounds into the room. There are no words we make that will open the hand.
The open hand is feared, as it must slap. We open our hand, to cover our gasp; to hide our mouth loud, to reject a grasp. There are no words.

If I give you my words, will you leave me alone?

He wouldn’t be able to take a piss if the decision had a cost.. That’s why he hated to travel, back when pay toilets ruled the trailways.