Y (why) words are in-measurably immense, and immensely important.
There are thousands of English words beginning or ending with Y, ranging from yes to eye to by. By the time you enjoy going through words that begin with y, such as you or yellow, and words that end with y, such as dandy, remedy, Billy, theology, and especially ends with -ly such as silly or Lilly or -ty such as party or comedy, you begin to realize you can apply many a verb or adjective with -ly ends, you will realize the power of Y. Equally you can ask any thing with the word why, like any terrible two would be, where this annoy baby doesn’t care about your specific reasonable answer, this little dervish kid just want to mess with your messy head, mouth and gut, you will begin to reason yourself why.
Further, by the time you finish reading my readability of English Y words, you will realize that the reality of Y words is bigger than creativity of Y letter, larger than any Y reason, and heavier than why so the gravity is less important than reality, and why such the reality of life exists with the brutality of gravity’s liability.
Below is just an example of how my Y story is truly a glory.
A year ago, yesterday, in the fancy town nearby Yorkshire county, I accidentally encountered you. Yes, it was you, in your own yellowish yard, and yay, I couldn’t believe ya were that nasty!
To edify my feeling, I have to reconstruct the sensitivity that has been ridiculed, and to reconnect my sensibility and essentiality in specific specialties and ability among all sorts of generality. There is no way to quantify what had happened, only to notify to my inner unity where things took place after their given remedy.
Worse than my nasty feeling built up towards you was your filled-up hostility behind causticity, and your anonymity beneath scarcity. When a nasty feeling is scarred by an irony being, scarcity will be teamed by the absurdity, aligned by obesity, toned by obscenity, measured by absurdity, and valued by atrocity.
I recalled vividly that your manner was incidentally insane. The moment I innocently approached to your territory, you instantly yelled at me as if I was the person coming from your neighboring town Yale. Right before my feet were toeing cautiously on your beautiful yard, you mistook me as your friend Billy, who was never easy on your mutually connected friend Lizzy. In fact, you personally wanted badly to befriend Lizzy, wishfully to be closely related to Lizzy than Billy in that entry of your history.
Upon this very incident, I politely told you that “I am Philly and I talked passing by your town.” Whether your ears heard it clearly or never did, your reply was filled with fiery scream. Your yelling tone mixed cutely between a naughty yawn and a doughy snore; as if your mouth was tonified by spicy poultry, your tongue was glued deeply by angry vinegar, and your stomach would carry a century long indigestibility.
This was a personal quality control issue. Your voice had an equanimity there, due to a kind of never end nay pitch buried inside. There was that no no no standing still display: wanting nothing from an outside world and wishing nothing for a better world. When such a no was displayed by a tiny yay outside but pushed by a suffocating nay down to the bottomless hell, this stony voice was far distantly away from sweet Lilly who was raised in the upper town Dilly. It was used to be such a pleasure being in front of sweet Lilly whose voice was so dear to an open-mind-filled heart and so near to inch-long spaced soul.
Yet, the way you delivered yourself unbelievably was clearly the way who you truly were: unhappy subconsciously plus unpleasant substantially. This your voiced tone was sickly yucky and unbelievably messy. This very tone was: distinctively a touchy gadgetry, minutely a scratchy entry, significantly a patchy chemistry, and undoubtfully a catchy mystery.
Without responding or resonating, I simply listened to what you had to say. You said purposefully that: a city’s ability doesn’t fit in a small town’s capacity, a family’s familiarity is the security and dignity to extend family members from households to township, and a person’s overall utility includes fertility that concludes usability. Once the fertility is debilitated, utility runs abnormally, due to the malfunctioned disability desired by infertility. Surely, there will be no better usability left to deal with this person’s true quality: a fine mentality polished by strong integrity on top of approachability.
Largely, this depends on how many a people can live happily, would exist yearly, and will survive perennially. If so, town-hall meeting is as equally beautiful and powerfully beneficial as a National Party Convention would convincingly converse. But if not, people dwell in a little minded and small sized township would quickly mover away like a seasonal bird, or quietly migrate one’s migraine headache to the collective headache dwelling the big city. This move was much like many European ancestry did back in 16th century, onward and forward in global communities. And there are no utterly other possible ways that you can convey their unwanted survey, that you can unsurely pursue them to stay, that you can stop people from mindfully looking for a better life, and eagerly seek into multiple variety plus endless opportunity in a mega-sized metropolitan area built by urban-admired and suburban-extended city: such as the New York City.
The mentality of such a mega-city is immensely huge, larger than many a little country can fathom, and bigger than any belittled individuality can imagine. The entire world demands on this mega-city to provide subtle delicacy, as if a penny is bigger enough to fill endless numerical folds, and larger enough to place little-minded fellows inside countless zeros.
You also mentioned smoothly and cruelly that you have no apology toward what I sincerely acknowledged. It was like you were delivering a eulogy on top of a massive ecology that would extend your forbidden trilogy.
Likened any in its how, a city has its own unique personality and unmeasured quality, in which affordability feeds equality through variety and diversity. This quality is a gift to any mentality, like a yift to lift many a disability to so much of a possibility. To yield from a little town to a large city is to yeve yourself with a never-ending opportunity.
Between ecology and mythology, the capacity of a man lives inside the money that feeds a nationality, inside the honey that sweetens the cruelty that never sees reality beyond brutality. And between psychology and personality, mentality is the remedy of a dignity, as frugality sends a faulty casualty to lofty brutality. In this city legacy, your old privacy has no mercy, while your fallacy is insufficiency. You would be easily sitting on belly, laying lazily on ally, to permit a trolley run on your alley, and against daddy and candy.
Now, things become wordy, and worthy, or messy. Whether it is a light day on the bay, or it is in a bright clay reflecting the ray, light never delay nor decay, though may gust on its just, before water rusts. But while wittily you say so, your essay is away from being astray, as you subconsciously display what you betrayed.
A day is not everybody’s birthday, as each day is somebody’s birthday to play, and every day is a holiday to really defray.
A gay is not nay, but okay for the outplay, to replay that prepay. Whether it is a Yay or Nay, gladly is not tartly sugary, nor angrily bully, helplessly folly, and sadly and foolishly chilly.
Words are willy, as wordy is silly. When a day is foggy, the air must be misty; but if a day is stormy, it is windy and rainy, and if snowy, it is watery and chilly. If a day is hot, the ground is sandy, while if wet, it is slippery.
When a day’s light shines dimly, the sun is silly; while a night’s sky is cloudy, its darkness is heavily influenced by the sleepily melody.
Now, things become truly wordy as a naughty nerdy would do to a savagery ferity. When a day’s light shines dimly, the sun is silly; while a night’s sky is cloudy, its darkness is heavily influenced by the sleepily sensitivity. When the sky lost its key to light’s ray, it displays the grey. If you convey it as this moment’s survey, you either obey what the grey says or betray what the cloud’s survey.
To survey the valley, monkey’s kidney is happily smiling at donkey’s mouth-filled barley. The odyssey from the attorney’s survey disobeys what a sky-lighted journey, rich with honey and abundantly dotted with money.