The Weight of Words

Silence is often really the best thing to say. Sometimes there are times when the words seem unnecessary, as though they will change nothing, or only make things worse. Sometimes there is nothing to be said, the words do not come, or, if they do come they seem useless, worthless, some despoliation of the silence.

Words are heavy sometimes, the delicate situation cannot bear the weight of the words weighing it down, bending and distorting it to the point where it will break and shatter, sending fragments and shrapnel piercing the skins and ripping the bodies around it.

Sometimes the words seem too light, too insubstantial for the job they are needed to do. These times it seems the words are inadequate, hopeless, the words themselves tearing, ripping shredding as the weight of the situation rips them away, to float away like scraps of paper on the air, or floating away on the rapid streaming of the river, delicate, torn words lost on the breeze.

Then there are times when the silence too seems heavy, suffocating like some heavy blanket thrown over in the heat of the summer night that seems thick and choking.

Silence, too, though can be like some bird in the air, floating free, gyring up beyond the clouds, or warm and comforting like the arms of someone who cares wrapping you up tight and safe.

Sometimes, it seems that words and silence are the same thing.