Tell me a story...
Over the last few days I have been increasingly falling short of words. Blame it on the fever, or on my general lack of articulation, but every time I have tried to express something, I have been left groping...I haven't managed to clothe my thoughts well enough to get it across to the other person. Funny really, considering I knew exactly what I wanted to say on each occasion. But I did not, because I was scared my words would not convey the depths of my feeling. That they wouldn't tell the tales behind the veiled constructs:
Don't worry, everything will be alright.
I wish I could put things right for you.
I love you.
But I am scared sometimes.
I miss you.
I wish you were here. Now.
It's ok.
I have moved on. It doesn't matter anymore.
I am a peddler of words. It's my business to tell tales in a language you find credible. When words fail me, I find it cloying. I wish for an alternative language: signs, gestures, movement; anything that can resolve the status quo.
My friend River called the other day. She is one person with whom I don't have to rely on words. She understands the words within my words. She can interpret my silences. I know she knows. I trust that she knows. And I am secure in my emotive knowledge. ``Life would have been so much easier without language,'' she told me that night for the umpteenth time.
And for the first time in my life, I agreed.
I need the spoken word to mask my emotions. I need it to make you believe that I, the storyteller, am in control.
But imagine a world, where, like in a story-book, every glance, every gesture, every touch has a meaning. Where the pattern is in the emotive design. Where you are taught to cull the idiom of silence because you know that's where the real story lies...
Would I tell you to believe what I want you to?
Would I hang on to your words?
Don't worry, everything will be alright.
I wish I could put things right for you.
I love you.
But I am scared sometimes.
I miss you.
I wish you were here. Now.
It's ok.
I have moved on. It doesn't matter anymore.
I am a peddler of words. It's my business to tell tales in a language you find credible. When words fail me, I find it cloying. I wish for an alternative language: signs, gestures, movement; anything that can resolve the status quo.
My friend River called the other day. She is one person with whom I don't have to rely on words. She understands the words within my words. She can interpret my silences. I know she knows. I trust that she knows. And I am secure in my emotive knowledge. ``Life would have been so much easier without language,'' she told me that night for the umpteenth time.
And for the first time in my life, I agreed.
I need the spoken word to mask my emotions. I need it to make you believe that I, the storyteller, am in control.
But imagine a world, where, like in a story-book, every glance, every gesture, every touch has a meaning. Where the pattern is in the emotive design. Where you are taught to cull the idiom of silence because you know that's where the real story lies...
Would I tell you to believe what I want you to?
Would I hang on to your words?
posted by P at 12:49 AM
2 Comments:
can't thank the day enough, the day you started blogging........
I agree with you, we, who ppl think to be vendors of words are really the most inarticulate ones.....
And u know what....may be we won't be there at all.....courtesy nirvana that we might attain someday.....or may be we'll be still be hanging there in some other life separated with countless ones by this.........I believe there'll come a time when all languages will cease to exist .....for we go back to where we come some day.....Then....we'll go by your emotive design.....the fascinating but intelligible game of touch and gestures.........
possibly the best that u have written so far....liked those eight lines...
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