The unspoken word…

That unprecedented thought stealthily took the mould of words as my rage hit its threshold. I stood there with my eyes popped wide as the only thing in my spectrum was the thought of uttering everything that my brain was processing at the speed of light. And to utter every word that hit my verbal tone followed by an abuse just so I could make it sound like an exclamation point. My thoughts kept provoking me as my open palm slowly turned into a bowl of fist and if there had been a drywall I might have punched it through just so I could relieve the very agony that kept pushing me. Still focused at the sight of my pretentious dear friend standing right in front of me all I could do is somehow control the chaos in me and let it explode right in the core of my heart rather than to go on a verbal rampage and slaughter everything that stood in my way. I could barely calm my nerves as for a minute I thought they might pop right out of my head, so many thoughts processed, so many events revisited, so many words defined and redefined, yet the count of words uttered remained “none”. Maybe I’m habitual, maybe I have swallowed so many hard pills that my self-respect had gone numb and now hardly serves any purpose other than the occasional push that I keep hitting myself with.

Unhindered by my thoughts stood someone for whom I was once a support system, now back to life, I felt like I was that oxygen cylinder which wasn’t required by someone breathing fresh air. For a moment I felt like carrying my frame and standing right in front of their sight and questioning their courtesy but do we ask our doctor once we have been remedied, do we ever call our lawyer back and ask for advice once we are unscathed from our sins, do we ever ask our psychiatrist my life’s good what about yours?. Back in my stealthy little skin, I walked past them unnoticed and unrecognizable; maybe when there is no air they might come back to this idly sitting oxygen cylinder, maybe, maybe not?

One of the many instances when I swallowed my words, my thoughts, my rage and the many regrets that followed. How it keeps me up at night wishing how I could have sprayed words on the wall and never felt guilty about it. But my guilty conscience won’t let me live easily it keeps reminding me of how many people I could have just cut off and walked away from and yet how I have entertained people over the years and their undying needs just so for once people would remember me, damn if only I had the bone to say what my heart actually feels.

Feels like a breeze in the summer yet pierces like a bullet, how some people could just say shit right to my face and walk away and won’t budge a muscle. And yet here I stand afraid of the consequences, feeling guilty, followed by numerous apologies just so I could value what I have. I stood right in front of the mirror and asked myself why I just couldn’t do it? Why my unfiltered thoughts turned words would always flush in drain than to speak my heart out and make it rain. So be it showers of somebody’s tears if it isn’t your fault why bother? Why care for inhumane souls who would only forget you when the nights turn cold? Why be muted and express your rage inside when all you did your whole life is to be pretentious and smile.Why?

And like every other curiosity about my introvercy I couldn’t find the answer to this. Maybe someday my roof peaked rage will finally burst open. My thoughts won’t be squandered and they would penetrate their armour like a glistening sun. But then the switch flips and I ask myself what will I ever achieve hurting someone who will only fall prey to their ignorant belief. Apart from self-satisfaction that I relentlessly seek what will I be awarded, if my words are meant to hit. What shall I probably gain after my words that I had contained would cause someone endless pain? The scar might be covered but a broken heart couldn’t be stitched. If keeping the chaos of thoughts to yourself is a sin so be it don’t let your good heart turn corrupt for the evils that you don’t seek.

So here I stand confused and outraged, helpless and reckless. Here I stand with a blade sharpened with my exuberating thoughts, here I stand questioning is it worth that thought?. Maybe some of us can’t actually speak and maybe some of us prefer not to. And not because you are a worthless coward because you know how much damage a tongue could do then a fist to someone’s face would. Let that unspoken word of yours never damage someone, if you can’t say something good then why speak evil. Just a thought!

-Gaurav A. Khandekar


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