"Use your words" you tell me, in an age where words are like cockroaches, invincible against time and indestructible once uttered.
What if I told you, when I look at your face I don't see words. The letters and syllables that love to flow out of me and fill every empty silence suddenly don't fit right in the space between us. You and words are like oil and water, not meant to share the same bowl and only used by those too impatient to wait to let their *** boil.
That's the thing with words and oil, once spilled you never really seem to clean every trace left behind. A greasy film coats the surface no matter how much water intends to purify it.
But I can wait.
I know there is no rushing the tide while you wait on the shore the same way painting you with oily words won't hasten our journey. The heat of silence fits you so comfortably that I can't help but reach towards the fire when you say to me,
"use your words."
For the boy who tells me to use my words.