I can't say the words, but...

I can't say the words, but...
Laura Barton

     Our words say it, but we never say the words. The words that are few, but that mean so much, we stretch into long sentences that cause the emotion to surface, but leave enough room for doubt. Doubt that festers in my soul and remains there courtesy of a mind that thinks too much about everything that there is to think about. Yet, I allow it to be so.
     While I could easily end this dilemma one way or the other, the proper words are constantly stilled on my breath. Constantly withheld because of frozen fingertips that are too afraid to reach out and get burned. The possibility of being burned by the realization that all the insecurities I harbour are true.
     Are they?
     Why else would our lengthy expressions only emerge indirectly? Via short clips on a tiny screen that are personal and yet dreadfully not.
     And how am I to know that I am the only to be graced by this verbiage?
     Condensing what we mean—assuming we both mean the same thing, and I suppose even if we don’t—is a challenge we’ve yet to overcome. All this time and we still dance around the fire; too close, nevertheless still too far. I, at least, haven’t figured out how to draw in closer without consequence. Perhaps that’s impossible.
     Maybe I should just dive in, screaming to hell with it at the top of my lungs and hoping that I can get through safely.
     Maybe then, the words will no longer be stilled and we will each say with quivering awkwardness exactly what it is we mean.
     Maybe then, fingers will grasp and continue to hold, interlocked forever. Or maybe they will try to grasp, only to relinquish this grip and remain raw for a while. (I wonder if they would ever really heal.)
     Maybe then, we can finally move forward.
     Wherever that forward may lead us.