What of languages, if you only need a few words to ask how a friend is today?

What of learning dialects, if you only need a single sentence to ask a vendor how much their goods are?

What use are the multiple languages you speak, when you can't use a single one of them to say what you feel?

What about the new language you taught me, if you only speak to me when I do? What good is it, if I were to become mute?

So what of languages, if you can't use them to ask me how I am today?

So what of your dialects, if I couldn't ask you how much your attention is,
or if I could even buy it?

So what use are the multiple languages we speak, if we can't use a single word, a sentence, not a single language to say what we feel?

What about the new language you taught me? Do we let it die or make new jokes?
How good it will be, if they become true?

Participating,

counter voices and dancing:


a language tumult.

Loosen up the tongue
Liven the mind,
Live for the words,
Learn in swift time.

Look for fresh ways
Listen, take care.
Lap up the praise
Love it, despair.

Luck you will need
Laugh at your blunders,
Layered and limitless
Are a languages wonders.

our antique soul
so veracious
cages our dreams and hidden secrets

our soul's a relic
our incarnation
holds all memories back to when our mother tongue was Thracian

our soul has hyperthymesia
mind of an elephant  
writes our life in lyrics to a string of an instrument

MorningSunDirtyDishesDwindlingFridgeOhNowTheKidsAreUpWhere'sMyAss­ignmentDueDamnThatDogWrongShoesRightShoesCan'tForgetTheLunchCarNe­edsGasLaundryLaterProfessorAssignedANOTHERPaperCoffeeBreakMyLibra­ryChairIsTakenWhyOhWhyDidIHaveToGetTheCubicleNextToTHEMStaringAtA­ScreenInsuranceCompanyCalledForgotToCheckTheWaterHeaterGottaPickU­pThatNewCoatForMySonWhyOhWhyIsTheClockSoDamnSlowManMyBackHurtsWhy­Didn'tIGetAStandingDeskIAlmostForgotOfficeHoursFINALLYTimeToClock­OutMomLookAtThisDadSheHitMeDidNotDidTooDAMNThatLaundryIForgotItOf­CourseTheProfessorWouldLeaveFiveMinutesEarlyOhGottaBuyPresentsFor­CousinStaceyOhFUCKDidYouJustSpillGrapeJuiceOverTheNewCarpetYouDid­IShouldn'tSwearAtTheKidsEvenMoreMountainsOfHomeworkNowTheBaby'sSc­reamingTheDishesAreStillDirtyHiHoneyI'mHomeCan'tTalkGottaGetDinne­rReadyLooksLikeALongNightAtTheLibraryAgainAndTheLawnNeedsToBeMowe­dGodI'mSoTired-

"Can I do that for you?"

"Here, let me take care of it."

"Don't worry honey, I took out the trash already."

Silence.
More than silence.
Space. Freedom. The radiant light crossing the distance between the worries pressing your spine and a task checked off by someone else when you weren't looking.

It is an air valve popping loose.
A throat suddenly choked up even as the tension melts away from your muscles. Sacrificial love replacing the items on your to-do list, one by one. Your mind free to think again, to live again.

An oasis in a blinding desert, planted by another person, fertilized with their perception, and watered with their care.

It's not just that a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It's that you're now weightless.

They have shouldered your burdens with a tender smile.

They have helped you learn to fly again.

It is the absence of air - of space.
A twoness made out of oneness, that slowly becomes oneness again.

It is fire.
The light graze of HEAT along the edges of your suddenly tight knuckles. Every pore in your body falls in love in a vivid blur of life.
It's all-encompassing, like how the lazy sunset spreads and pools its searching golden fingers across every living thing, clinging to the earth.

It is a lazy ripple striating across the surface.
The stress leaving your body in waves as they rub your shoulder. It's an intense, firm awareness of every atom in your being, every breath and shift of your limbs a story waiting to be told.
It's a prison and a release when they hold your hand for the first time.

It's earthy comfort and flickering excitement. Heavy heat and grounding warmth. Lightning nerves turn to steady assurance.

Safety.
Vulnerability.
Contact.
Presence.

I want to know you
but you are another world away;
a barrier stands between us
my words don't reach your ears.

I need to know you more
to love you better,
or my feelings remain incomplete.

Within your eyes I see a distance
it becomes a cancerous growth,
and our relationship shrinks,
from lack of communication,
redeemable therapy.

The action is mine
a decision held within my hands,
to give away, jettison my pride,
and finally speak to life that you recognize.

My words are borrowed,
From the tongues of those
Who stole our freedom.

Yet now I use them,
For my expression
In the name of —

Liberation.

in english we say i miss you,
like the person you seek comfort from
is nowhere near.
in french they say tu me manques,
like that person
is literally missing
from you.

what i’m trying to say is:
te echo de menos.

you’re not here in my circle of proximity.
you’re too far away to hold close
or kiss,
or even meet for a walk & a talk.

& maybe it’s selfish
or silly
but i find myself  
daydreaming
of you
or how you make me feel

when you embrace me & my being;
talk softly to me & laugh with me;
walk calmly near me
& search for answers in my eyes  

or on my lips.  

we’ll always be friends.
but i think you’ll be that friend
where i feel something more.

safe & calm;
happy & warm;
soft & blissful.

& while i can feel those things
with my friends & family,
it grows differently with you:

a gentle glow of light  
in the depth of my soul,
kindled with every touch;
every word;
every look;
every smile;
every inhale of your cologne.

i hope it never dies out.

i used to question:  
what if it’s just the idea
of you
that i miss
& the short time we spent together
that i relive in my mind?

but i know it’s not just an idea.
because if it was, i would want that  
with anyone who piqued my interest.

but it is listening to music with you
& sipping cider in busy bars with you
& sitting on cold benches conversing with you
& lying breathing with you
& how did it get to this,
when surely you don’t feel the same?

i could see it,  
& maybe you could.
but maybe that terrified you,
or made you think more than you should.

pero que será, será; whatever will be, will be.
the Lord will have his way,
& it’s okay to feel,  
come what may.

so is this simply a nebulous picture
that i once dreamt up on a train?

no, it is you.

i
    m i s s
                  you.