It and The Words
They had been together for quite sometime. Enough time to brew and conjure The Words. A tricky time that is to be. “¿But do you feel It?” they would ask themselves in hushed voices while the other was asleep. It, It, It. She had never said It. Deep inside her she questioned if she even could. The consequences of laying The Words around unceremoniously were atrocious. ¿What if her body was too frail…too secretly flawed? If this didn’t work there was surely hell to pay. No one could afford to sentence The Words between moans or by accident. It was too much of a blind leap. She wasn’t very fond of closing her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I can’t waste this on you” she slipped, not believing a word she had uttered. The thought of The Hurt was too great, she was safe now. She figured if she could strangle It before it got too big she would be fine. Y’know It grows and grows if you feed it too much and then It makes you say Them. Out of the blue, at a gas station or into a pillow. It was fun for a while, at first It’s small and harmless, then it becomes too dangerous. Some people knew how to handle It but the risk was too much. She’d seen It be graceful and lovely and great but of course, those people were graceful and lovely and great. ¿What could she harvest? No, this was the safest bet.
One festive day, the people around her showed her so much of It. So carelessly, so freely. No one seemed hurt, It hadn’t eaten anyone, everything was fine. ¿Could it be? Maybe she wouldn’t get hurt that bad, no one was bleeding, no one was dead. The morning after she looked herself in the mirror. Studied her face and her body, It was there. She saw It in the eyes staring back at her, in the soft skin around her bones, in the fickle smile and neurotic lines, in the many flaws of her being. It was there and It grew so fast that she couldn’t hold it anymore. “I love you”. No wounds. No explosions. “I love you”. No tears. No hurt. “I love you”. Everything was fine.
And like fruit she gave It to everyone she could. Because It is not like a monster. It is like a tree, because if you feed it It grows and gives fruit and the fruit is sweet, but if no one picks it up it rots and it smells and it lays there festering and that’s when It hurts. She dropped The Words on everything she could and It did hurt sometimes but her body could manage and even if it didn’t seem so, It was always worth it. She could harvest and flourish and share It because there was no other source than herself. There was no tally, no score. There was no one telling her she couldn’t say The Words anymore because she would eventually run out. So she did.
Just fucking tell people how you feel because no one is counting your words. Tell people you love them because it’s true. Don’t let them go. Say The words even if you’re too scared because it is fucking scary and it hurts but damn it it’s probably worth it. Fuck, the bravest people I know are the ones that love everything carelessly and I hope someone will love my neurotic little being so recklessly that it makes me forget how scared I am.
Ps. Don’t watch the season finale of Gilmore Girls season 6 a Sunday night. It will leave you oversharing and a blubbering mess.
Ps2. I love you.