Some words are butterflies,
in your stillness, they arrive.
They stay but only for a moment.
Then off they fly.
Some words are boulders,
they sit heavy on your chest.
Their memory must be allowed to fade
And your crushed spirit put to rest.
Some words are a fairy’s tingling laugh,
whispered in your ears.
“They exist, they are real!”, you promise.
But no one else can hear.
Some words are a whiff of nostalgia,
flowing mildly past your nose.
They fill you with child’s delight
And memories to teleport you home.
Some words are a rekindled fire,
stoking long-forgotten wishes.
“The fire is gone”, naysayers declare.
But they still rise from undead ashes!
Then there are some words –
a mother’s soothing, warm hug.
“You are safe, you belong”, they envelop.
And broken hearts get saved.
But this menagerie of decibels,
of derived meaning,
of speaking and listening,
all of these words?
they ebb, they vanish
in the pregnant silences,
the quiet reveries,
of moments, of feelings –
yes, in this living,
once they are done speaking.
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