Breath by Samuel Wright

Excerpt of a haunting short story:

In the last few years, I find myself often having this conversation: Someone asks how I am, I reply fine, but with the added nuance of varying tones of voice and expression, we say some things, and they touch some part of me and say, ‘you know where I am.' 

I always think, yes I do, you’re right there.

The dignity of words, the resonating theme.

Wonderful in the bittersweet manner. Akin to the feeling of removing a plaster from a partially healed wound, mildly painful yet somehow satisfying.

Words faded in and out of existence; images stood in where words once were.

Awesome, just wonderful.

Here's one other inspiring essay. And one more.