The Right Words
If we said the right words, everything would turn out alright, of course. If we spoke to one another just so, neither of us would hurt. Disappointment noisy as air escaping an untied balloon that, up until the wrong word seeped out, had been stretched thin and round, its breath held by pinched fingers. This is the trouble with being seen. When his words prick me, the sting flashes across face. I turn away quickly, hoping he won’t see the defeat in my eyes. I search for the right words and perhaps even find them, but speak in my taut, brittle voice and he can hear me cracking inside. He knows, he sees instantly I’m disheartened by his response. I take a step sideways and search for angles of escape, some distraction that will avert conflict and allow me to scurry away before I fall apart. My falling apart takes many forms; some are self-defeating, some self-abusing, and some pure rage. A falling apart in stages, really. Once we’ve used the wrong words, the right ones go into hid