Three Words, Eight Letters

Apr 12th, 2013 5:29:13pm

Words are strange, fickle things. They’re a lot like people that way. They have the power to hurt and to heal, to hide and to reveal, to break and to mend, to create and to destroy. They can become hollow from overuse, from repetition, from lies. Or said by the right person they can be and mean everything. And just like people, the marks left by words are often not visible.

There are many things that I say too much. Things I repeat again and again because I sometimes feel they’re constantly forgotten, or disregarded as folly. Sometimes, it’s because I have no idea what else to say. Mostly, though, I repeat things because I feel they need to be heard, and why try to say it differently when this particular phrasing says it so well? But it often scares me, the thought that maybe I repeat things because there’s no more to me than that. That perhaps those words make up my entire being in a nutshell, and that I do not evolve, do not advance, do not learn. That one day, all I’ll essentially be is a broken record, constantly left behind because who ever wants to hear the same things over and over again? They lose their value, when spoken long enough, do they not?

There are many things that I say too much. “I love you” used to be one of them. People don’t realise how driven I am by love. And when they do, it scares them, so they pretend not to notice. I guess I love too much, and perhaps too openly, and it’s hard for me to understand why everyone craves acceptance, understanding, unconditional love, yet run away from it when offered, unable to believe its existence to be more than a dream, unable to grasp the fact that it’s here to stay. It’s hard for me to get that. But then… I do get it. I get it more than I give myself credit for, because hey, I’m actually the same.
Hypocritical or self-deluded or both, you tell me. And so before (or maybe I was too late, I know not) the words “I love you” became hollow, draining, too terrifying to bear, more a burden than a comfort, I stopped saying it as much.

At least, not in words.

If you look closely enough, however, you’ll see it. Hidden in my greetings and my goodbyes. In the way I smile at you. In the way I’ll poke fun but then apologise profusely if I think I’ve taken it even a smidgen too far. In my offers of help, my pathetic words of comfort, my attempts at encouragement, my random phone calls or messages or links.
It’s there, my friends. In everything I do. With me always hoping that you see it. That you understand its presence. That I’m leaving my mark, a good mark, even if it’s not visible, and will never be to me.

Hello. (I love you.)

Asking if you’re okay. (I love you.)

Listening to you speak, no matter the topic, as I smile and nod and urge you to continue in my own little ways, paying closer attention than you might think. (I love you.)

Helping with something. Trying to cheer you up. Distracting you without prying. Letting you rant. Walking on the outside of the pavement, just in case. Offering whatever I can, like my jacket when you’re cold. (I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.)

Remembering little things about you and showing you that I remember, when the circumstance arises.  (I love you.)

Goodbye. (And I love you.)

P.S: And to all you strangers, to all you fighting your battles with the world and yourselves, trying to find happiness or struggling to survive…

To all you beautiful, incredible people:

I love you all, too.

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