I fell in love with words. I claimed them without hesitation. I seized every vowel and consonant in the precise moment each touched the air. I grew faint at his breath, but never did I care to feel his touch; the sound of his voice was all I needed. I never again put such faith in a person’s tongue.
Perhaps the only thing I mourned more for than my weary heart was the gravity of words. To speak is a privilege, and I think of this at every instance that my lips part. It never happened upon my mind that a person could misuse something as precious as words — that they could ever be so hollow.
I gave him words of my own. Words that I now know he wasn’t entitled to hear. Words that he couldn’t return with the same worth. Words that I’ll never be able to unsay.