"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple" -Jack Kerouac
Once, there was silence. The next time I tried using my voice. For the last time, I threw in a few words. But they weren't responsible because they couldn't carry the strength of all the emotions that queued up, brimming on my forehead. Eloquence stood precariously. When my words couldn't deliver every instinct that the questions sparked within my fingers, it scattered into echoes which bounced off our bedroom windows and walls. I'm blaming it on the nerves. They stood up in my throat and shook their head in disappointment, blocking the way for clarity. It would've made it a lot easier for you to comprehend otherwise.
Now I'm chalking up a plan. It's supposed to be grand. I've built a brand new shelf. I'm sifting my words with powdered sugar. When they fall through doubt and manage their way past these tunnels of approval I'll dust off the specks of immaturity and inarticulacy. They will be polished silver and brushed with simplicity. The shelf will hold all of them one on top of another, close and clean, in symmetrical piles. One day, when days and nights will suffice, my collection will stand tall, immaculate and complete. It will be enough and there for you. I will leave it for you to pick out the ones that suit you. When you put them together, you will finally know and everything will be as it was supposed to be, as we would have liked to be. They will tell you why I stayed back for you and eventually couldn't anymore. The fog will slowly lift itself off your apprehensions and you will see that it was never fear that held us from spending the rest of this life as one but it was our time together that left us fearless of the time to come.
Set up, ornamented, my words will tell you the tale plain. I will let you know all you couldn't hear when you left the room and shut the door behind you. They will finally make you understand what I failed to in all this time. They will help you understand that intention was not enough to give us what we wanted and that it's hardly ever about what we want. It will be perfectly clear to you that what we let go of was made to be left behind. It was meant to be left unfinished so that we could part ways and yet live. Some day all of this won't be limited to a glance or a social gesture. We won't just pass one another in the street. My words will hold all the loyalty and promise time always demanded too much of. They will take us past guilt or remorse, or nostalgia or need. One day it will be only my words and they will belong to you. They will explain to you that it was meant to be; be just as it was when we stepped away and gifted half of ourselves to memory.
Once, there was silence. The next time I tried using my voice. For the last time, I threw in a few words. But they weren't responsible because they couldn't carry the strength of all the emotions that queued up, brimming on my forehead. Eloquence stood precariously. When my words couldn't deliver every instinct that the questions sparked within my fingers, it scattered into echoes which bounced off our bedroom windows and walls. I'm blaming it on the nerves. They stood up in my throat and shook their head in disappointment, blocking the way for clarity. It would've made it a lot easier for you to comprehend otherwise.
Now I'm chalking up a plan. It's supposed to be grand. I've built a brand new shelf. I'm sifting my words with powdered sugar. When they fall through doubt and manage their way past these tunnels of approval I'll dust off the specks of immaturity and inarticulacy. They will be polished silver and brushed with simplicity. The shelf will hold all of them one on top of another, close and clean, in symmetrical piles. One day, when days and nights will suffice, my collection will stand tall, immaculate and complete. It will be enough and there for you. I will leave it for you to pick out the ones that suit you. When you put them together, you will finally know and everything will be as it was supposed to be, as we would have liked to be. They will tell you why I stayed back for you and eventually couldn't anymore. The fog will slowly lift itself off your apprehensions and you will see that it was never fear that held us from spending the rest of this life as one but it was our time together that left us fearless of the time to come.
Set up, ornamented, my words will tell you the tale plain. I will let you know all you couldn't hear when you left the room and shut the door behind you. They will finally make you understand what I failed to in all this time. They will help you understand that intention was not enough to give us what we wanted and that it's hardly ever about what we want. It will be perfectly clear to you that what we let go of was made to be left behind. It was meant to be left unfinished so that we could part ways and yet live. Some day all of this won't be limited to a glance or a social gesture. We won't just pass one another in the street. My words will hold all the loyalty and promise time always demanded too much of. They will take us past guilt or remorse, or nostalgia or need. One day it will be only my words and they will belong to you. They will explain to you that it was meant to be; be just as it was when we stepped away and gifted half of ourselves to memory.
This is such a beautiful creation. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteNothing better than knowing my words reached out to someone. Thank you! :)
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