I’ve heard it spoken once before in a high school science class that water constitutes nearly sixty percent of our gossamer bodies. Having been given only glimpses into our complex interiors, I imagine the other forty percent involves peculiar mixtures of lingering aspirations, tongue-tied silence, jaded remembrances, and the poised solicitudes spiraling from prior erasures of memory. However, I’m extremely inclined to profess that assumptions about the composition of one particular body are always shattered by a wrecking-ball truth. Really, considering the rhythms of my fingertips on an illuminated keyboard, I assure you words steal a solid ten percent of land where water flows freely. I suppose then I’m more fifty-fifty since words are nutrition to the empty stories yet to be filled. The irony of wellbeing is the complexity that so many believe to be simply the sum constructed by the anatomy of human needs and desires. -J.P Legarte