Word clouds

[…] Sunday shapes its morning around the arabesque steam rising from my coffee cup. In front of me my notebook lies inert, a chest of words and meanings – or maybe a coffin for those. You slowly peck my fingertips and the edge of my thoughts, shyly asking for my attention, sobbing frustrated because you weren’t the one I chose only minutes ago. But hush, little word. I didn’t pick you up from the multitude of options to express my feelings not because you didn’t deserve it, but because I cannot endow you with a soul that is not yours yet. Maybe the time will come when you will be the one climbing on my thoughts and then diving into the sea of paper in front of me. And when that happens, you will know that you are ripe enough to stand the way in which both paper and thought mutilate your meanings, making you so much less than you are.

Do you know, little word, that there are moments when I don’t speak because I fear that my tongue would crush the hidden meanings of some of your brethren, out of ignorance or shallowness or simply because, in its eagerness to taste the vocables rounding their shape on its surface, it rushes its way over them? I wonder, if I took a vow of silence and never spoke again, would my tongue then die, condemned to fulfill only its physiologic contribution to my body’s nurture? Or will my mind be shrewd enough to take its place?…

But that vow will never be taken. I confess to be much too fascinated by the way in which you, words, are sometimes filigree works of art, and other times boulders of rock, in your clinging to my mind. I need to speak you out and write you down, braid your meanings to one another and turn you into histories. (People name me a “writer” because of that – I’m not so sure that they understand that word, or any word at all. But then again, most people don’t see you the way I do. Yes, I am vain, with all the implied meanings. I know it.)

So you see, little word, your time hasn’t come yet. But fear not – at some point you will most certainly see your shape etched in the cellulose body of my notebook, next to others, and all I hope for is that, when that time comes, you will not hate me for the way I’ll pin you down. […]

 Cloud 1

 © 2014 Liliana Negoi

5 Responses to “Word clouds”
  1. Pete Armetta says:

    I thought I was the only one in the world who considered such things! 🙂

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