The Words That Outlive Us
Is it better to speak or to die?
This question originates from the Heptameron, a 16th-century collection of 72 tales by Marguerite de Navarre. And one of those tales follows a handsome young knight who is madly in love with a princess. She, too, loves him, though she does not yet seem entirely aware of it. Their friendship blossoms, yet with it grows the young knight’s silence. Perhaps it is because he cherishes her so deeply, or because love has humbled him beyond words, but he cannot confess his feelings. Until one day, he asks her: Is it better to speak or to die?
And for me, the answer has always been to speak. If you were to ask me a few years ago, I’d say because it’s better than dying, simply because it would mean I’m still alive. Now that I’m older, I’ve learned that speaking is its own kind of death, but at least it isn’t one with unsaid words lodged in the back of your throat. At least the words you longed to say won’t decay with your cold body. At least your words can travel through the breeze, and maybe reach the person they were meant for.
Many people believe that the vulnerability of expression is far worse than dying. That dying without having spoken at all sounds more pleasing than laying their heart bare. Once you lay your heart bare, you no longer control what becomes of it. Not because it stops beating for you, but because someone else now has the power to hold it gently, or to let it fall. That’s a gamble many people refuse to take. Being hurt by the person you trusted being vulnerable with hurts far more than a quick death.
But to me, the most beautiful act in life is to be vulnerable. Be expressive. Speak. It doesn’t have to be a heartfelt letter, or a speech that stays in someone’s head years later. It can be small, but that doesn’t make it less true. Your love is already real even when you aren’t actively pouring it out.
And I know it’s scary. Being appreciated doesn’t always come back in the exact same language you give it. But it helps you understand more languages than your own. And that helps you understand others.
And that’s always what I’d rather do. To me, life gets meaning once I mean something to others, and I think that happens the most when I let someone know what they mean to me.
When I let them know that they matter, nothing brings me more joy than seeing a tiny sparkle in their eye, life flowing through their veins again, and seeing their lips perk up, even just a little. That’s when I know I’ve made them feel alive. And it makes me think that, maybe, the true meaning of life is making others feel alive.
Your words aren’t pointless if they make someone feel seen.
So yes, speaking can be scary. Death may seem more appealing, it’s a protective instinct we all possess. But what does it matter if we speak and then die rather than die instantly? What does it matter if we set aside that protective mechanism and say what has been ramming against our ribcage? The words you refuse to say are suffocating you, and being choked by your own words is a rather styleless way to die.
Speaking doesn’t guarantee reconciliation. Sometimes it changes everything. Sometimes it changes nothing.
a/n: sorry if my writing’s off, English isn’t my first language!! But I hope you enjoyed reading this nonetheless :) and if you need someone to talk to, or to just get something off your chest, my inbox is always open <3
