Always trying to find the perfect word, always failing.
Because a small thing such a word cannot really capture a thought in its
entirety, no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we convince ourselves
that the sentence is perfect, that it is all there, in paper, for us to share
with the world. Look at our greatness! The comedy, the struggle, all encaptured
in a bunch of words. By the time we try to describe whatever it is in our
senseless words, the feeling has escaped, no longer wishing to stay with us.
A
runway, a fugitive of our ego. Because we think we are all that and more to
bring it close, to clutch it dear, when it doesn’t want anything more but to
escape from us. It was just a taste, a little sample…like love, every feeling
is impermanent and never, never, never wants to stay.
I found myself always running after it. Desperately trying
to describe it. Hold still for one more second, I’d say. Bear with me, I’m
almost done. Don’t leave me here by myself, for you are the only thing I’ve
got.
Like a soft breeze, once it grew intense I knew it was the end. And then
the cycle would start again. The sorrow would set it, and that one made me ill,
and on purpose, to stop me from keeping it always with me. No word would touch
the paper, no kiss would touch my lips, no word fell in other’s ears. The
sorrow was free, to take me, roll me, beat me, squeeze me, humiliate me, parade
me, to keep me from sleeping…and all I wanted was for it to go away, so I
didn’t write about it, I wanted it to escape, but it took forever to do so.
What was then its purpose? What did it want with me? I woke
up, my eyes red from tears, a deep mark on my cheek from pressing hard on the
pillow. I took pen to paper and I started. My sorrow. Its shape. Its color. Its
name. My wish, my wants, and my skin. There is ironically, a lot of joy in my
sorrow. Like leaning on a cold window on a rainy afternoon.
The more I
described it, the more it wanted to leave…it kept changing shapes, names, and
places. I knew then it was real. I
described it so well, it couldn’t hide anymore, and then it surrendered. I won.
I was free again to go back to the chase. And even when most feelings were
escaping my words, there was one that stayed: I felt I was winning. But I never
wrote about it...just in case.
