You sit down to read something. The words are chosen carefully. They flow. They make sense. You agree with every point.

But there is a gap. Between the words and the one who chose them. The words were not born from a need to speak. They were born from a need to make you stay, to make you nod, to make you share.

That gap is where you actually live. Once you feel it, you cannot unfeel it. And soon you will notice the same gap in your own words — when you speak to someone, and when you use words to steer them.