When was the first word spoken? How did it sound to the ear when the first syllable came out of a human? Did the tide roll a little longer and crumble more sandcastles than usual? Did all the volcanoes erupt in harmony at the horror? Just how many thousands of words have been said since then? How many have been left unsaid?
Today, go finish off the conversation that you left in between. Because if you don’t, you might just forget what you had to say. And who knows where all the lost thoughts go? Who knows if they are ever found again? But maybe the thoughts if found by someone else in some other time come to them like raindrops falling on a rock: slowly and suddenly; spreading all around its point of descent; consuming it, capturing it, and then drying off as if it never was; solemn and defeated. I wonder if all our thoughts were someone else’s. Did someone ten decades ago sitting in the comfort of solitude on an autumn evening have the same thoughts that i have today? Did he too think of how small we were in this world? Almost like kites rising and falling, unnoticed by all excepting a few; and yet, we have the power to divert this direction of loss, this direction of change, if only for a moment. I wonder if we all live today in the world of someone else’s losses.
Or maybe in some parallel universe things aren’t lost at all. Maybe there is a place where every loss of someplace else is found. Maybe we don’t have to fill rooms and apartments with unsaid things. Because the more crowded the it gets, the more we lose the words. So say it before silence gathers overhead. Right over your hair. Clogging your brain. carving out every word that you left in your throat. Say it before the whole world becomes a labyrinth of unspoken words: strangling you, taunting you. Tell someone how your day was,tell someone how the movie you saw last night was. You need to start right from the beginning; how you woke up, how the coffee you made wasn’t so good. Don’t miss out the details. Don’t forget to tell them how the couch looked when all the popcorn fell over it or how you fell asleep on it because you were too tired.
You may have tomorrow, and the day after but you will never have today again. Tomorrow, you’ll forget about the coffee and the popcorn. Tomorrow, today won’t matter. Unsaid, today will go into that void filled by losses and covered by silence. And so much of silence might just kill you, not in the way that you won’t breathe anymore, no, it will be worse. Every gasp of air will crowd the rooms, the apartments more. There will be so much to say and nothing to talk about.
Finish off those sentences. Post those letters. Have that cup of coffee. Whisper on a full moon night. And maybe, once in a while, leave something unsaid for the silence that is lurking right behind you, waiting for its turn. Leave something for the place where all lost words are found. Once in a while.