When I was little I thought Written words were the same as vacant introductions.
An unnecessary formality thatâs only purpose was providing a gateway to real conversation.Â
Because stories, were an eyes, ears, lips and eyebrows sort of game and the silly calligraphy next to the pictures were almost comical in their uselessness to me. Black letters, strung together, struggling, pointless.Â
Eventually teachers started to notice that my âstoriesâ, were grand guesses and messed up inferences that were interesting enough to pass by and when that crumbled I had to learn a new language ions after everyone else had mastered it.Â
But as I started to learn with a hungerâcatching upâsnowballingâsearching, humbled and pondering, drowning in the idea that, âthere had to be more.â
I was pathetically surprised to find that there were no words for any important emotion. No word for,Â
    Coming home to a decrepit, midnight house, looking out your window only to notice the entire world has started dreaming without you. There are no friendly golden lights or flapping curtains, you canât seem to remember if youâve been this alone the whole time.Â
     No word for wanting friends like cartoon characters, wear the same cloths, have the same hairstyle, never leave for more than 45 minutesâor when you do change, physically or otherwise, let their be an entire episode dedicated to the mystery of where your heart broke down.Â
    No word for digesting music like sleep, storing it up in order to function and breathâthen in public complain that you donât have enough.Â
   There is no word for explaining how I remember you the same way I remember parties in a giant old house in Cleveland Ohio, out of no where in the middle of a midwestern tundra with a body count of 30 frosted evergreens, you bubble and blaze.Â
   There is no word for trying to create a season out of someone. Wanting holidays and celebrations and an entire unique array of weather patters for the people you love in a calendar that revolvers around their happiness, the closest I could ever come to that word was sorry. Because I mix up numbers too and I can never seem to remember the date.Â
Words are cruel. You need thousands to create a story. So here we are spitting up words like its a disease, trying to fit our stories together without anytime to do it. It is a wonder, we donât fall asleep mid sentence
âUseless Words, GG
