When Words Disappear

“How come you didn’t scream?” He asked, the body of a boy wearing the face of a man.

How could she tell him that the scream sulked away in the night and abandoned her there? Just like the way we are helplessly silent in dreams, she opened her mouth and only the heat of breath emerged. Breath free of noise, free of the desperate cry that twisted inside in her throat. She reached her hand inside her throat but her fingers touched only the softness of her own spit. Perhaps the scream was hiding in the warm sponge beneath her tongue. Maybe it had circled, lost, in the maze of her closed teeth. Wherever it was, it was lost and no matter how she wiggled her fingers around in her mouth, it remained hidden.

(excerpt from We Are All Made of Stardust, by Emily Monroe)

Why are we silent? When we most need our words, they suddenly disappear. Fickle friends. Sometimes we are all silent. Sometimes there are things we want to say, but can’t quite summon the words. Maybe once you wanted to tell someone that you loved them. And you didn’t. Maybe once you wanted to ask for forgiveness. And you didn’t. Maybe once you wanted to ask for help. And you didn’t.

But maybe the words are there. Maybe they are just waiting. Waiting for a vehicle, for a story, for a poem, for a VOICE.

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