Had ample opportunity to put words down today. There were six, seven moments almost where I thought I had a few minutes or maybe an hour to spare, but where there is opportunity, there is resistance. I often think of this when I am unable to tell people how I really feel. Sure, I make up my mind and open my mouth, but my tongue betrays me. The words never make it past the walls of my mind. From that point on, they are trapped forever. What do I think of when I have coffee by myself on the dusty, empty patio with leaves scattered all over, with chairs kept awry and tables left with stains from coffee cups on them? The things I never told others—what else?
Arguing, I once asked someone, “There is so much love in me; I deserve someone who offers me the same. You pull me in with the same arm you keep me at length with; how unfair is that?” Of course, this was selfish, and it was years ago. It holds little meaning now. But it was said. And today, sitting on the patio, I thought of that conversation from all those years ago. Naturally, there is little I could do about it. So, I sipped my coffee and let the breeze take my thought away to the trees up ahead, perhaps in some nest or hive or nowhere in particular. Telling people how we feel is not taken in kind or taken earnestly or, sometimes, taken at all. I wish I could find it in me to open up when I talk to others. But I do not. I claim opinions, and I share ideas, but I rarely ever tell anyone how I feel—about myself, about them, about anything at all.
But I remember how my heart was on my sleeve once, how everyone knew precisely how I felt about anything at all. Sometimes, I think it changed after that argument. Other times, I am unsure what changed and when.
I find myself in a glass box. The whole world can see me. I can see them, too. And I try to say things sometimes, but then, I look at them—their faces blank and befuddled. My voice never reaches them. At first, the box stopped all my words. And then, I reckon, the words stopped before I could utter them. The body and the mind adjust, and they remember. At least, that is what they say.