The Unspoken Word.

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So many bitter words are hovering in the air, their unspoken weight
choking off our air supply as we try deny their presence. It weighs so
heavy on our minds and our hearts, creating an island of salted hate
and seasoned resentment from which we cannot escape. The unspoken
fears and misplaced nerves to speak the words we think with such
bold intensity act like smog particles that dance among us on every
night spent wandering aimlessly through a city that suffers from
insomnia because guilt turns its stomach sour, its sweet tooth dull
and kind eyes bright, not with joy, but with tears because those
words are tangible, a concrete object we can brush with our finger
tips and see with our eyes, unable to be contained in the meager
container that is our heart and mind. They try to break free, but as
the teeth act as a safeguard against hasty decisions,biting down on
the tongue controlled with such earnest by the overcrowded words
desperate to find their freedom, the eyes offer a new outlet, and
they stream forth as tears begin to flow. Words cannot be contained.




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Your hands are curled into fists in your lap and you're fighting so
hard to smile. It looks painful, as though you bit into something
too sweet. Perhaps our friendship was too much of a good thing,
and a cavity was born in the depths of our souls, one that wouldn't
appear on any x-ray. It was a friendship that seemed to be born
from necessity, not desire, like the little girl whose parents married
because of pregnancy. We were only too willing to smile for the
black and white camera, because a colored film had the focus to
pin point all the clues that would turn us in for what we really were:
frauds, two strangers who stood close to pose, but stepped away
when the lens towards another. We were a friendship born out of
another, spawned by a situation that called for immediate comrades.
We were content to satiate the untended curiosity of a few onlookers
when it seemed their tabloid zines just couldn't provide the gossip to
quench the thirst, and so our name was born to the world as the two
friends, business partners, enemies, as tension flooded the room and
we found that we were at a stand-off, with all eyes staring as yours
locked on mine. This wasn't supposed to happen. The words betrayed.




.




I wished that you would strike me, but the strength of the Unspoken
locked your fists to your sides and you smiled and said it was alright.
Nothing, you said, was different between us. Another layer of deceit
made you cough on the taste of copper. It was a lie. Everything had
already changed. I didn't have the strength to rise against the Words,
to let them spill forth from my mouth without the jumbled half truths
and off-white lies, discolored by exposure to the air they weren't bred
to taste. I returned the smile and bowed my head, I was no longer a
partner in crime, but a friend. At least, that was the intention then.
But speeches made in anger create the most beautiful regrets, and
the tidal wave created by the earth quake seemed to be too great to
conquer. The earth trembled and the land took form, became what
was to be henceforth known as the Truth. The Words held formidable
power over the sway of events, honing as they bid their time like a
fine wine. Those waves of furious tears and disappointment carried
to me the Truth of your discolored lies and for the first time, I cried.
That night I mourned the loss of a friendship, a hope,... a like-sister.




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I have beat my pillows flat and scared my Beloved from my room, but
I cannot find that I am truly angry with you. I do not share your pains,
feel the stabbing wounds inflicted by harsh words, but rather harbor
my own share of injured dreams and stricken misconceptions. It hurts
to breathe with every inhalation, but I will keep this truth to myself.
It seems we have learned nothing of our mistakes, for the tension still
builds despite those injured in the battle and desperate warnings gone
unheeded. The air is still foggy, the shapes contained within its dark
green mist lay undefined. They are nothing but blurred beliefs, false
concepts designed to make the heart yearn and the mind wander, a
lost and hopeless dreamer without a dream to fester. It blooms only to
die at the discovery that its Muse, its Soul, is little more than a lonely
Echo of opportunities that have passed us by. I try to reach out for your
hand, only for you to hastily retract it into the safety of your pocket and
I cry out for the loss of your trust, the loss of my faith, and our Ending.




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Endings are rumored to be little more than an illusion cast by a lonely
heart, trying so desperately to protect itself from more injury. With
an ending, it implies that there is time for a scab to form over the
pain and thus, time to heal before the next Beginning approaches its
time. If this is the case, then let your wounds heal and scars fade to
little more than a pale reminder of what once had been. Let the new
beginning sprout and bloom, a beautiful cherry blossom in the spring.
And let that new beginning take place as true friends, dissipate this
smog that threatens to overwhelm the senses as they try to discern
truths from half truths, lies from discolorations of the imagination.
Let us begin the way we should have begun so many months ago, for
no other reason than you and me to be what we thought we could be:
younger sister and older sister, a shared smile and a treasured Word.
Shield our ears from whispers that allow frost-bitten doubt to creep
into our subconscious mind, and trust that what we see is all there is.
If you call yourself a sister of mine, let me see your version of Truth.