The one that stayed

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.