All The Things I Could Never Say Out Loud

Guess.

All The Things I Could Never Say Out Loud

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It’s so hard to admit the things that you want to hear.

Usually I’m good with words.

But in cases like these..

I stare at a blank page for hours on end.

 

I’m struggling with this now.

Finding the right words.

Afraid that using the wrong ones will scare you off.

What good is a writer without words?

I used to struggle to find inspiration to write.

But inspiration was never the real problem.

The problem was I couldn’t see the story.

And it was right in front of me.

All of the time.

I was in my family’s cafe.

I watched two older women talking to one another.

They both had empty plates.

But they seemed so engaged in their conversation.

I overheard a customer mention them as he left.

They were best friends.

And they had finally reunited after 37 years.

I just watched in awe from then on.

There are plenty of things I can say.

But none of them seem to fit.

Of course, I’ve never been good at talking.

I’ve learned that the hard way.

I wonder if now..

Maybe what I am doing is good.

Maybe it is right.

But what if I am wrong?

I ask this repeatedly.

Over and over again.

All in my head.

For no one else to come and see.

What if it is pity?

What if I am right but I make things go wrong anyway?

What if I don’t stand a chance?

Should I let this go?

I know I shouldn’t.

Though, I can’t help but think of how much easier it could be.

Without the pressure of all of this.

Without the worry of you, and being good enough.

I remember the time you left church early to record for band.

Right after you left the preacher asked something.

He said..

“How many of you are people pleasers?”

Nobody raised their hands.

“Well, I know you are all lying!”

The preacher paced back and forth on the stage.

“I’m a people pleaser.”

“Probably the worst of the bunch.”

The preacher looked into the crowd.

“And I know many of you endorse this.”

“You’d think..”

“If she were a lot more like her..”

“Or if he were a lot more like him..”

“Maybe then it could work.”

What kind of thinking is that?

I remember that sermon.

Every.

Single.

Day.

It felt made for me.

I don’t mean to be selfish.

But this felt like the answer to a lot of my questions.

It was too good to be true.

And yet it was exactly that.

True.

That’s partially why I keep bothering with this.

All these words.

Meaningless poetry to you.

Because maybe if I at least try.

I might have that chance.