Won’t you forgive me for the quiet? I recently learned some very important things about words, and when they should or shouldn’t be used. And lately, I have been saving them for the time and place where they will be most needed.
Incidents took me on a time-travelling course: back in time, to the future, and back again. I stood on my own toes, peered through the eyes of another, opened my hands and my head to something I never thought I would again. I have so much to tell you, darling, if I only had an idea how.
“Grown-up” road trips with my siblings will always be something. I will always be the youngest and maybe often the most clueless, so they take turns at the metaphorical wheel, taking me places, taking me out of places. We were never the type to discuss details at length, particularly feelings, so they have worried about and consoled me under the guise of joking around, perhaps about the nicknames of my future children. I am so thankful.
There are people who are so good to me, I tend to feel like lifting my vow of meaningful quietness. My words are valuable to me, but sometimes I want to spend them in lines of ‘Thank Yous’ and ‘Sorrys’ to the people who invest their time and effort in making sure I am okay. I would happily report that I am doing perfectly okay. Please don’t worry.
As always, my secrets are piling up. Not just for me but for another; someone who spent a good two and a half hours at that radio-stained diner, measuring my important silence with me and telling me he gets it. He does, he really does. That boy.
“Last question.” “Mhm?” “Does the silence help?” “Help… what?” “Does the silence help you? Is the silence really all you need sometimes?” (long pause) “I don’t think it’s the silence I need exactly. It’s just… when there are people, like me or you, who are okay with the silence… it’s easier to trust that the things we do say are the things we really mean.”
There are secret worlds hidden underneath, such that you will only find if you dare to look. But I love the way that his voice dropped low and his eyes understood. He saw the worlds that no one even imagines. He knows the secrets that people don’t want him to know, that they don’t know he knows. He made me believe in the silences again. I am thankful.
The truth is that I am standing on an edge of something, not trusting in hope but in a faith and an offer I should have taken up long ago. The truth is that I want to fly again, and if I wait until I am ready, I will never get off the ground. The truth is that I have set myself free.
I hope you understand.