Softly unspoken

These things are better kept unsaid, locked away, erased so as to never cause hurt. Because they might. If they have to be kept with such effort at bay, if they bubble over with just the hint of release, then they will shoot out and cause minor cuts, deeper bruises to bystanders. Uncontrollably lash from their cage, reek havoc and chaos, dirty the carpet with blood stains. They cannot be tamed, were never laid to rest, never acquainted themselves with peace. You are the keeper, harbourer, breeding ground for their fury. You drag and pull, you labour over the motions, meticulously make sure never to leave anything behind. It weighs you down, almost unable to move. The blinding anger propels you further ahead, unaware of the burden you are carrying. Year after year. Your heart slowly weakens, your soul almost disappeared. Your yells are faint whispers, your words insincere, your future bleak if visible at all.  

The words themselves are not to blame. Neither is the force with which they leave your mouth. Forgiveness takes a trained soul to administer: I am not trained and not wise enough. Not accepting or gentle enough. Not caring or honed in my sensitivity towards you. We stand here, face to face, with warring words cutting into our souls. Nothing to sooth the pain, no second hand to turn faster, ease the burning, excruciating ache. The timing is unfortunate, the deed barely forgivable, yet you continue. Misconceptions cloud your judgement, the nights that you cry through are not silent at all. I am now motionless, soundless, waiting for your furious freedom to leave this room. Peace comes too slow.

Mind me not, I will disregard you from now on. My way is silent and still. My soul when hurt, heals slowly. I would rather stay unspoken, unseen. The echoes you hear are from the shrinking hearts of those you have hurt along the way. They send the words back to you, I hurt too. Because I do and because you do. We both do. We both hurt despite every effort to heal naturally. I will not survive another attack like this, you cannot win another battle waged against your crippled soul. We will both perish, clad in the black stench of death, unrecognisable to ourselves.

Here is where it ends, where it stops. I will turn to silence while you turn away, decorate the words that hurt with those that love. Maybe, just maybe there will come a moment when you can let go and I can finally forgive.