I’ve often marvelled at the English language. 26 letters
combining together, in a multitude of ways to create names, poetry, books,
reports, studies. It’s like magic! It gets even more fascinating when you think
that those same/similar letters can be spoken in different ways to create whole
languages which in their turn can compile books, poetry, essays etc.
Now, you would think that in all those combinations there
would always be a word or phrase to express anything you could desire, however,
as I bear witness to daily, this is not the case. Sometimes, words just aren’t
enough.
The first time I spoke to him was over our words. Our
passion for the creations we would birth in our minds and then record for
others to enjoy. Life hadn’t been easy for him and he couldn’t understand how a
person like me, young and privileged, could write out of such pain and
darkness. To be fair, I’ve never been able to understand why myself but the
words that he read mirrored his own pained cries. Our friendship grew over the
years as did our lives. I travelled the world, explored, lived, making the most
of what was handed to me in life. In stark contrast he worked for everything he
had, which was pretty much nothing, and he felt strangled, suffocated by the
restrictions of his life. Even when I settled and got married, had kids, my own
freedoms suddenly reigned in, I couldn’t claim it to be anywhere near as
stifling as his constant battle with life. What we had together though, that
was breath taking. The worlds we created, the stories we told, the songs our
hearts sang in poetry form, words, weaving us together. We laughed, cried,
celebrated, loved, shouted, swore and started the whole cycle again. Twelve
years, inseparable. We spoke daily, feeling lost if one of us was unable to
communicate for more than 8hours. Then one day, it stopped. His final words
saying goodbye and that he loved me. Now it’s not been hours since speaking to
him but months. Almost a year.
You know that moment where you’ve been in a really sunny,
bright place and then suddenly you enter a tunnel and you literally can’t see
anything? Yeah, that’s how it felt. Maybe at the start I hoped beyond all hope
that I’d come out that tunnel quickly and have the sun shining on me again but
after a couple of months I realised I would have to let my eyes adjust to the
dark. He truly was gone. What made things worse is that people don’t
understand. They say things like, ‘but you were just words to each other’ and I
look at them and don’t understand them. How do people not get that words mean
more to me than anything? I don’t see in pictures or colours or even smells, I
see life through words, letters mingled together to create something beautiful.
Part of my language has been taken from me, by his own hand. Part of my
alphabet gone.
As I walked through the darkest areas of the tunnel which
had suddenly consumed my life I would get flashes of light. Not sunlight, more
like street lights. Illuminating but nowhere near as life giving as the real
thing. Memories, good memories, flashes of joy, amusement, even shyness.
Sometimes the light is slightly brighter, sometimes just flickering, like the
bulb was about to blow. I think I’m starting to accept that there are skylights
in my tunnel though. I still miss him more than I can express, but I promised
him that every word I write will be for him, his memory, his sunshine back in
this world, a part of him to share with others. It’s taken me a while, almost a
year, but I’m starting to feel my words come back to me. I feel like I can
speak our language again, practicing with people who understand this amazing world
of creativity. I don’t cry when I think about him in our world, I smile. I have
never been so grateful to a group of people in my life. A family no outsider
truly understands. Connected by words. Connected by minds. Connected by 26
letters.