Yesterday in the bus, I saw this wonderful confluence of movements, hand gestures between two people. I believe they could not speak. They expressed in their delicate signs more comfort, hope and happiness than I could within the realm, breadth, and trianglulation offered by the single language that I claim to have such control over. They dispelled such energy to the world that my writing would expose itself as nothing more than a flatulent lie.
The world around is marked by the distance words travel to their end, where a period and a long silence hold the same pause of eternity. Where the words congeal together to bring tears, rage and happiness in their scabbed distortion, where the echo of their sounding, silences rooms or brings forth applause, where they mold together to form a life, break one, embrace a significant opinion or end a sentence.
All the signs I could see searched the air in remembrance and character, hope and love.
Yet when I searched for the words to express that moment I found them so difficult to piece together, one into the other. They do not form, they will not mark that jigsaw puzzle time as whole.
I hope we all have better words to say sometime or choose none at all.
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