Every Word You Cannot Say

by Iain S. Thomas

I know sometimes, it’s too late, and the music plays on.

I know you feel things and wish sometimes that someone was there to tell you that you’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling.

When you’re lost, take a brief moment to find yourself.

When you touch this page, someone else, somewhere else, is waiting to touch the exact same spot, and is thinking of you.

Because somewhere, they are reaching out to yours.

Everyone you meet along the way is just someone at a different point in their story.

A wave does not stop being a wave when it crashes

What have you lost between this page

What words will you add to it today?

You cannot say it is the absence of them, and the presence of them, and the difference between those two things, that hurts the most.

*But when do we tell the truth and say what must be said? Only when the world ends?

But time is all it takes.

We only hear the loudest voices when really, we should be listening to the quietest.

“Wait, you’re doing nothing wrong.”

Sometimes, this is all meant to be hard.

I believe that there is a restaurant somewhere in the universe that serves nothing but first meals and last meals.

We’re all afraid we are alone.

(What you feel is not brokeness, it is the desire to love yourself how you were meant to be loved.

And while your anger can be useful, you have no duty to it.

And we must be gardeners of all the things we find in our hearts.

Living the life you want, after you live the life you have, doesn’t actually work.

We all intend to be perfect but none of us are.

Maybe every good thing I meant will become a blue line, stretching into infinity.