Last text message stamps that turn from time to day to date watching fiction fabricate where love profession became kiss-sealed fate. Determining if terminal velocity has been accelerated passed at a change in change in distance greater than gravity while existing unknowing with respect to and with no respect for
space. A little bit too tipsy to the point of topsy turning. A little bit too little: a tiny chunk: a minuscule nibble. A finger in to test the waters, the temperature of misplaced tea. The temperature of a tepid day with higher than bearable levels of humidity for individual hairs to stay put in organized chaos. Chaos so chaotic it can only be described by a law, the second one, it’s fundamental thermodynamic the heating the cooling trying to contain to construct to solidify the abstract into the concrete so concrete so rigid so indifferent unemotional.
The feeling of wanting to have so much to say but not being able to think of anything due to already having said so much during an overextended period of time which causes new words get caught on finger tips and on the tips of tongues out of fatigue and the unwillingness to repeat repeat repeat forcing the mind go blank with emotionblock in the absence of being able to turn old emotions still felt strongly but now of inappropriate intensity into some new hypertwisted words and overminced phrases. There should be a word for that feeling.
Thoughts are words dissolved on tongues: chewed, swallowed, and digested in tiny little pieces. Internalized and singular: an understanding reached by one. Dialogue breaks barriers: building empathy brick by brick. Expanding points of views (when willingness allows). But language is limited: an attempt to find common currency. Always losing value due to flawed rates of exchange. Repetition is key: with synonyms shining differently-angled light. To get across unambiguous subtlety of some fundamental meaning. Forgetting is a tragedy. A lesson unlearned. A heart rebreaking. A thought dissolved on the tip of a tongue, that never got the chance to be unleashed.
The feeling of wanting to say I’m alright because I am, but not being able to get the words out without tears forming a layer over my eyes, and trying not to blink because to blink would cause the layer to collect as a droplet, which your eyes would follow as it fell down my cheek, but be powerless to stop, even though I am alright, and it’s not your duty to make me feel alright, and this involuntary formation of water is a response to your caring, because I know that you want me to be alright, and even though I am alright, your wanting so deeply for me to be alright almost makes me feel guilty, which I guess means I do not actually think I am as alright as you want me be and so I guess I am lying to me and to you (but no longer to us) to say I am alright, and there are varying levels of alright and I am not at the level you’d like me to be at in order to qualify as alright. There should be a word for that feeling.