Sometimes I wonder where all the unsaid words go. Words lost when a sentence is left hanging, or some lost in hesitation. Simple words that were never penned or remained unspoken because your courage failed, or those where you had the chance but chose to shake your head and say the words “let it be” instead. And even those words that went into the thrash bin etched on pieces of paper now crumpled and lost.
I imagine there is a place for them, a place I call The Silence. It is a cavernous hall full of unsaid words from time and history, stored for all eternity. A library full of scrolls and pages and books of innumerable words, some legible and some not. But unlike the hush of a library, there is a rapacious din as the words that were never spoken cry, scream, yell, howl, and whisper to echo in the eternal vastness of The Silence.
I imagine myself walking down these halls. I hear my own unsaid words yell back at me, echoing in the emptiness and I try in vain, as we all have, to bring these words out into the sunlight. But what does it take to pull them out? A tremendous feat of courage, a leap of faith—or is it as simple as finding someone who would listen? Sometimes I feel it would be easier to pour alcohol all over The Silence and let it all burn spilling its content into the world. But I do not know what damage the fumes would do and I dare not try.
And so they remain, these unsaid words, in the vast emptiness that stretches on forever, locked and safe within The Silence, waiting for a day when they would be free. But I doubt they will ever be, as these unsaid words — unwritten and unspoken — remain apart yet a part of this world, making us human and a little broken.