The Story
At a trail crossing stood a little shop with a sign: WORDS FOR BORROWING. RETURNS OPTIONAL.
Inside were jars labeled NOT YET, PLEASE KNOCK, LET ME THINK, and I CAN TALK FOR TEN MINUTES.
The traveler picked up a phrase and turned it over. It felt stiff in her hand, like shoes that hadn't been broken in.
The shopkeeper, a remarkably patient tortoise, said, “You can alter it.”
So she tried: “I want to hear you, but I'm too wound up to listen well right now.” That felt closer.
She tried another: “I need a little space. I'll tell you when I'm ready to talk.” Closer still.
The tortoise stamped her receipt with a tiny star. “Words are tools,” it said. “You don't have to keep the first ones you try.”