You’re the only person I know who makes me hate words. This is no sweet nothing. I mean, how could you? Words are my thing. They’re all I’ve got. It’s a fact and a frustration that whenever you pop into my mind I get a little bit swept away, and whenever I hear your voice from across a room every precious word I have ever learned is wiped from my memory. They all give up, dead on arrival, power rendered useless.
From the moment we lock eyes to the very last kiss I feel mute. All of a sudden, this person who has dedicated their life to conveying emotion through words is at a loss for them, right when I needed them the most.
If I could, I’d climb atop every coffee shop table and shout your name; I’d grab your hand in a room crowded with our whispering friends and let you unravel my dreams, imparting every memory until you crouch with the weight of them. If I could, I’d piece together poetry and music, and I’d preach it as loud as God would let me.
But I can’t. Not now.
So, what do I do? I learn to talk with my hands and my eyes; I learn to shout with them: with each glance or inside joke; with my fingers in your hair and the slow warmth of our bodies; with pink ears and a fluttering pulse. I have too many feelings for me to waste with words, so, most of the time, I am silent. In those moments, my words die within me. They are mute, powerless. And yet, I am screaming. I am strong, because in that blissful span of time, in one person’s company, I am happier than I have ever been alone with a million words.
About a year ago, I realized that what I was looking for wasn’t the perfect words. It was this wonder, this cacophony of nameless silence: of just sitting together, wordless but understanding, and knowing that although our moments together are fleeting and rare, they are there, adventurous nothings, and they are unexplainable, but they are perfect. Maybe that perfection wasn’t meant to be fleshed out: immortalized in words. Maybe it could lie between us, and just be.
About a year ago, I found that mere words could never constitute a whole life; they couldn’t give me a perfect silence like you could. And you know me enough to see that I love words. But maybe I just like you a little bit more.