Words.
Those little noises that human beings have managed to bring to life for everyone to understand their weird surroundings…
Words.
Those tiny mumbles that push people to the edge of their success, dig them into daydream beliefs and spontaneously lead them to the cliff of their ends…
Words.
Those trivial grins our mouth makes and suddenly changes the whole world…
-Our whole world.
Every meaning we thought our vocabulary had found out.
Every reason why overthinking has taken over us.
Every… -»us»…
Words.
Sometimes words are just not enough.
Sometimes words mean nothing.
Sometimes our most important skill
-speech-
…is the most insignificant of all the reasons that someone would undoubtedly call our species «special»
- by in the end, calling our echoes «special»…
-what an irony, huh…?
Words.
The way us
- uncontrollably mysterious type of writers-
bleed on soft, dangerous paper every night, trying to figure out our triggering, yet excitingly curious minds…
Words…
Words…
Words.
Who doesn’t love words?
Who doesn’t adore these little, unbearable noises that we make up every single day since the day we were born…?
Words.
Words speak louder than everything…
right?
Words can save people, devastate buildings, press unreliable buttons, speak the truth, change reasons, and confuse seasons… right?
«Right…»
Yet… wrong.
Sometimes eyes perhaps speak louder…
Louder than the storms passing by every upcoming winter.
Louder than the earthquakes deserting the whole city.
Louder than all types of sirens.
Louder than you…
Louder than me…
Louder than every possible insomniac, single or taken existence.
Sometimes eyes cannot compare to words.
Words can lie.
Easily…
With no sense of guilt.
Words can hurt.
Cut.
Deeper than a sharpened scary knife.
Words can freeze your bones and lead you to death.
Mentally… at least.
As far as I’m concerned, they can’t cause strokes… can they?
The «genius» technology may show us someday… but till proven otherwise, I can confirm that words are dreadful as decent liars are. That’s why they get along so easily.
Liars lie. Words also lie…
But eyes?
They could never hide the truth.
Never.
And that’s what makes them so special if you still think this «word»
- if not a feeling-
exists.
The idea of love captured by a slightly green forest in your face, leaves blown away softly by the drizzling rain somewhere mid- July.
Countryside.
Sweet loneliness.
It’s just so tempting to go inside that awe-inspiring, endless forest.
Tempting to finally run along with the colorful, pale leaves and face up the true feeling of pure and utter happiness.
With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the soul, initially represented in your plain look?
The idea of success captured in a tremendous amount of dark, furious waves coming all to drag you in the depths of your only ally, who’s apparently not the ocean, but yourself…
That self than you let drown in anxiety and caused its only harm
- its self-harm –
leading you to the void, making you wonder what’s like actually feeling something, while whipping away those little, careless but shivering rivers in your cheeks.
With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of your inner surface, initially represented in your rosy cuticle?
The idea of running away captured in a sloppy hairstyle that’s ready to come for you, anytime…, any day…
Maybe when the sun sets for good, or the birds go to sleep after their daily… lovely
-if not annoying yet-
concert.
That ripped, black t-shirt covering your chest-bones and those highly appreciated black jeans of yours which have suffered every kind of isolation and fear or abandonment, but still, headed-up, are waiting patiently for yourself to order them to run, to ease, to pass away… violently…
With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the barely breathing material you hold onto, initially represented in your powerless strength of your casual existence?
The idea of pushing yourself to the limits in order to find the real reality of your unreal fairytale, trying to escape the meaningless and staring aimlessly towards the plane that finally crashes in front of what… you can’t really tell is you, but in the end, it has always been you… waving and nodding positively at the eternal gates of heaven, living through hallucinations so as to stick to your relatable feeling of feeling nothing, that feeling that is not quite as empty as you would admit touching the sky is… which seems to be faker than yourself, or maybe… your hidden one…
With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of the faded brownish moon you’re looking up to or the illusions of your unfortunate, abused reflect of it, initially represented in your innocent soul?
The idea of living a whole life in a cage, full of naughtious flowers and scented candles, believing in stolen ideas and lost opportunities, waiting patiently for yourself to accept its indifferent difference between you and the monstrous world…
Trying to escape the reddish cage in order to heal…
Lying in a pink or purple leather landscape that lights up every time you touch it…
Feeling its presence every millisecond that passes by your white silk hair….
With what kind of words could you possibly describe that feeling, if not with the words of your laddish actions against a gloomy instrument, initially represented in your pure feelings?
Words.
Five letters that someone, somehow, stuck together someday, somewhere… in the middle of exploring
-the unknown-
you could hesitatingly guess and identified them as some kind of «special”, without really trying to deepen in the deepest meaning of this insignificantly deep word…
Words.
Hesitated letters that stuck together and follow us around
-everywhere-
trying to convince us that we need something every time…
-not exactly telling us what that is-
when in reality, we only need to find ourselves, giving up every once in a while, struggling to push the words
-failing miserably for once again-
away…
After all, is there any doubt that words are the exact synonym of pointless?
ΑΓΓΕΛΗ ΧΡΙΣΤΙΝΑ
