October 24, 2012

Words

I have already fallen in love with far too many words you used and I have already taken the liberty of carving those words into my mind, just so that they remind me of you every single day. When you appear at my doorstep wearing nothing but words, I knew that I'm trapped in your eyes.

No, "appear" is the wrong word. Is there a word for sucker-punching someone in the heart? Is there a word to describe the feeling when you sit at the bottom of a roller coaster, and you know that the climb is coming, that you could feel the flip in your stomach from the fall before you even moved? Is there a word for that that? There should be. You can only fit so many words in a message, only so many in a phone call, only so many into letters and postcards before you forget that sometimes words are used for things other than filling emptiness.

It is hard to build a body with words. Instead of lying my head against your chest, I tell you about the boy who stayed up through the night practicing his drum set. The neighbours have complained, "We have long days tomorrow" but he kept on thumping all night long convinced, I think, that practice makes perfect. Instead of holding my hand, you tell me about the sandwich you made this morning, about how the ham fits the bread perfectly.

You could never fill emptiness with words no matter how hard you try. Words are after all, empty. One time you told me that nothing will come in between us again. I took my heart in my hands, the same hands where you left the very words, and I held on so tight to the words that my heart bled. Is there a word for when a sculpture crumbles before the carving is done? When you apologized and made me a promise, I took a mallet and struck my pitching tool into the core of my heart and I carved those words in. Is there a word for that?

Is there a word for when you win a tug-o-war? When the weight finally gives in, when the tumbling rope comes towards you and even though you won, you still wind up with muddy knees and scratches over your hands. Is there a word for that? I wish there was, then I would have said it when we were both finally alone on your couch and neither of us are left with anything else to say.

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