Words

«Is there enough time? Is there a right place? Is there a perfect moment to say what I’ve been wanting to say all along?»

Is that what he thinks?

The boy lives in a world made of silence. In a world where words don’t reach out to him. Does he even hear us? I don’t know. Does he want to hear us? Probably not. Does he hear himself thinking? Does he hear his own thoughts?

Does he even have any thoughts?

I’ve been struggling to understand people who don’t talk. Not people who don’t talk about their feelings or a particular matter, but people who don’t talk at all. How can they keep all the words to themselves? How can they not share it with the world?

And how does that feel like?

I try to read him through the look in his eyes but I hardly can. His look is so soft and calm; it almost seems like he actually lives in another world – a peaceful one, so different from ours. I try to read his smile but there’s hardly one. I always thought that the absence of a smile looked like sadness but he’s the proof that it doesn’t. He rarely smiles but he rarely seems sad. In fact, he often looks quite happy or satisfied.

So, my question is how? How can he do that? Or why? Why does he do it?

«Is there enough time?»

Is he thinking about time? Is he saving his time by not wasting any of it on words?

«Is there a right place?»

Does he think that our world is not the right place to waste such a precious thing as words?

«Is there a perfect moment to say what I’ve been wanting to say all along?»

This is a hard one. Is he waiting for the right moment? Does he have something in particular to say to someone in particular and doesn’t want to talk about anything else and with anyone else until he says that one thing to that one person? Is he saving his breath for something more important than daily life?

And isn’t this the wisest thing you’ve ever heard? Doesn’t it make a lot of sense?

It does for me.

The boy lives in a world made of silence. A world where that powerful and dangerous weapon we call words does not exist. And no one can be hurt with it. A world where words don’t reach out to him. He is bigger than that weapon and he is more powerful than it too. Does he even hear us? I don’t know. Does he want to hear us? Probably not. Does he hear himself thinking?

And what in the world is he thinking? What in the world are we all thinking when silence rounds us like dust in a desert? What do we think when all the words fail and breath is the only thing that doesn’t leave us? What are the thoughts that we don’t even let ourselves hear it?

Those are such pertinent questions and I would love to know the answers. Maybe the boy knows them. I’ll ask him someday.

I hear you.