Words

If words are what provide our story intent, a logical flow - the beginning, middle and the end, where do we slot the silences? That one inexplicable moment in which the words form in your mouth but your brain refuses to say them out loud. Like that text you meant to send. It was perfect. It was smart, funny, conveyed exactly how you felt. But you never sent it. You couldn't. You swallowed your half spoken words and your well meaning intentions but couldn't swallow your pride. You deleted the text, told yourself it was the way to go. In what folder do we save these texts - these rejects of our intellectual mind, the effort of our emotional self? The words that only have a meaning if said then, but lose character with time? The words that you will regret not saying but don't say because you tell yourself it isn't worth your vulnerability. Can we convey the burden of these words with our silence in the hope that the person, who is meant to understand, will do so anyway? That the redundancy of your words will only be more obvious in the face of the strength of your silence? Or are words our only way?