I feel saddened by words. For the first time I feel like they have failed – they weren’t able to fulfill their purpose to express, to explain, to clarify, to get across something. Last night, I could hear sounds flapping off my tongue, but it felt like learning to swim without water.
I, a self claimed “word smith”, I, a self proclaimed “writer” couldn’t find vowels and syllables to bring to conversation what was going on in my head and heart. I’ve realized why miscommunication can be fatal – words are a tricky bastard. I detest the ache I caused, born from my inability to be precise.
I was aware of the letters I chose, the sentence structure, the pain of making paper chains out of wet paper…but no matter how I tried, no matter how I rephrased – they weren’t sufficient. I couldn’t package them in the sounds that roll off my tongue, and so the delivery was all wrong.
There have been times when I’ve been speechless, but I finally understand now what it is to be at a loss for words. Language bridges us, it’s such an essential part of humanity and yet it’s so limiting. I’m frustrated that there is no word for what I wanted to say, I’m annoyed to be bound to the list in the dictionary, I’m distressed that, this too, has disappointed me.
And yet here I am, sitting down, writing because ultimately, maybe, a jumbling of the alphabet is all I have.
And here I am, deriving comfort from the click of my keyboard, and the silence echoing off what I write.