… but oddly enough, it’s not meaningless

Sometimes I get lost in words. The thousands I read every day and the ten-thousand more that are spoken. The signboards that can’t spell but still scream for attention, the e-mails that demand a response, the blinking cursor on my screen keeping time to anticipation – waiting to be filled with the black and white of Times New Roman.

“I want to be a writer,” I had said when I was ten, but I exclaimed it without so much as knowing what it meant. (Not that I know what it means now.) And here I am now, a facebook fan, reading the photo captions, status updates and always skimming the text on my newsfeed… correcting spelling, correcting typos, correcting the wrong things said – but mostly all only in my head.

Sometimes I read something so good I want to place marbles of words in my mouth, feel them on my tongue, taste them in my saliva, suck them flat of meaning, and swallow their goodness like Kwiks Cheeseballs. Sometimes, my cheese-yellowed-fingers tire of scrolling over other people’s genius and I am left in awe, but more so in doubt. Asking – Why didn’t I write that? How come it wasn’t me? Why didn’t I think of that first? Am I even good enough?

Maybe not. Then again, maybe.

What if  I couldn’t read? Would the typos I see, the fonts of purposefully painted lines of direction, would they still be pretty to me?

Lines and ink that come together in designated patterns offering specific meaning.

My life so dominated by words (text messages, books, articles,) transcends into nightly phone calls. My day incomplete without your voice, your sound – the potion to sleep and dreams, I wait to call (or I wait for you to call), even if it’s just to hear two words ( “good night”  or “sweet dreams” ) whispered electronically into my ear. But  in the quiet that follows your last words (before the click of the phone hanging,) the extended pause, the desire for more, the implied “I don’t want to let go just yet” – somehow the quiet of your breathing,  beyond what is said,  the silence has deeper meaning.

But how?

I guess, there aren’t words for everything.

  1. sherlock said:

    this, i loved.

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