If only...

Words. Slippery little devils. That's what they are. So often, I open my mouth to express a wish, a thought, a feeling and the little devils twist and turn and change flavors so that I end up saying not entirely what I felt, sometimes not at all...how many lifetimes would I have to spend before I say exactly what I feel right when I feel it, when it would make the most sense, when it would convey the feeling it ought to convey? Instead, I churn and chew and mull over the same thoughts and emotions until the perfect little train of words that ought to have conveyed what I felt are lost in the dark, and am left with cliches, awkward pauses and silences bereft of their meaning...and I sit staring at the old email, holding a phone receiver that is silent after the click at the other end...wondering for the umpteenth time if I should have handled it better...

Sometimes, what we call "advancement" might just be another step backward...of course, a million unopened proposals floating over the web and 143s cluttering chat messages claim otherwise, but nothing beats an honest, face-to-face conversation where expressions and gestures fill in the gaps where words cannot...when I know by his walk, the way his eyes linger over seeming nothings, the way he breathes, when he knows exactly what he wants to say and I hear him say it, sometimes with words, but equally well without...ah, but what we do instead is convince ourselves that a phone call a month or a few lines emailed in a hurry between meetings to a loved one will fulfill the purpose that reading her face and laughing with her will...

We are a lazy bunch. We want to communicate and not commute. And so we type what we think is an email that is as good as a personal meeting, a chat that supposedly reflects what we think, even a telephone call that tries to share our thoughts...and we misread the silences, the symbols, the unspoken words...and before we know it, it's over - the connection and the relationship with it has ended even before it began. But, the memory remains. Like an old scar that never quite heals, a dull pain that surfaces to remind you of the unfinished chapters in your life...

If I had instead talked to you, standing in front of you, holding your hand, watching you as I said the words that painted my thoughts, would you have understood?

PS - Don't worry if you don't get what am saying, sometimes I don't get it either :)

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