Words.
A myriad emotions compacted into tight, manageable packages.
They're such a mystery. How some days we prattle long before an empty room or a lone mirror. So much to say and no one listening.
How some nights we stand in a solo spotlight, hundreds of eyes riveted, and open our lips--yet nothing escapes.
Sometimes, we have so much to say, the words get stuck. They clump and ball in the back of the throat like a wad of tears. Refusing to budge. Resisting release.
So we pace. Back and forth, side-eyeing the pen or the keyboard like an enemy instead of an ally. Some nights, it's both simultaneously. Friend or foe, yet to be determined with every keystroke. The line between love and hate is fine, especially when self-drawn in the sand. Rejection and failure clamor for top billing over confidence and courage.
Some nights, it wins.
Some nights, you win.
And some nights, you yank the cord from the wall.
And that's not to speak of the words we didn't say.
Perhaps the most dangerous kind of all, the words fully formed yet restrained. The words that tango in the gaping silence between two people, the words that twist and float and flutter right out of reach. The words seeking discernment in eye contact, the words begging for clarity in hugs. The words that ache to promise but burrow deep. Words that crave safety yet are too scared to come out of the dark.
They say words are weapons, for words can never be taken back.
I say words unspoken are far more lethal.
Words.
A myriad of emotions combusting out of tight, manageable packages.
