How about a Questionnaire?

Standard

We die in the words we say

But die worse

in the ones we don’t.

 

Have you ever wondered what happens with the things we don’t say? Do they remain there , waiting to get second chances? Do they feel hurt, abandoned, disappointed? Mad at us? Do they hold grudges, like people do? Or they queue for second chances to get out in the open? Do they have only one life, one shot, like people do? What if we deny them these chances? Are we their  parents or executioners? A child needs 9 months to be ready to be born. How much does a word need? Or an idea?Does it grow hands and feet and senses gradually? Or all at once?Does a word even have senses? Can it feel us, smell us, touch us, the way we feel, smell and touch  when we read, write or utter? We feel words with anger, pain, resentment,affection or love,hatred or sympathy, in tears or in smiles. Never without “the baggage”. Always packed, loaded, staggering under the weight. Ants with piles on them.Snails carrying their homes.We live in our wor(l)ds. And carry them around with us.Thus, we never walk alone.The primordial word is always with us, in every breath of air inhaled, and every word exhaled. Even in the most intense of solitudes, it knocks on your inner doors and windows. And you let it not “go“, but “out“…

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