let us have our tongues

It’s not that I don’t want to write about how things are slowly chang­ing, I just never seem to have the chance. Nowadays, my pri­or­i­ties are sur­vival else­where, and the writ­ten word isn’t the out­let I need anymore.

Besides, every time I try to get a thought on a page, I get lost in the scope. My think­ing con­stantly goes fur­ther and fur­ther, as my under­stand­ing of the world moves beyond the things that affect only me. It’s made me a more patient, com­pas­sion­ate, and empa­thetic per­son. But by the time I fig­ure some­thing out, the feel­ing is gone, and words are no longer relevant.

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I’ve been try­ing to leave my cam­era at home too, a way of forc­ing myself to savour each expe­ri­ence. It’s a del­i­cate bal­ance between that and my ever-present need to doc­u­ment every­thing. I’m dis­cov­er­ing that mem­o­ries aren’t as vivid as pho­tographs, but they live longer in the implicit part of the mind, and both are food to an intro­vert nonetheless.

Days with­out a way to cap­ture the world around me are never easy. I want to take pic­tures of sun­light and sum­mer and sweat and sex, but life hasn’t been so much about events as the reg­u­lar­ity. The moments I share every day with the peo­ple I need, or the time between when I’m recharg­ing and heal­ing. The things worth appre­ci­at­ing are more fre­quent, but all the more fleet­ing too.

One comment

  1. I’m lik­ing where you’re going : )

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