Love / ‘l∨∧/
“Love” was the word he didn’t say. It was left behind with other residues of young age genuine silliness. For years he looked back, to only discover nothing was the same, but one thing, his shadow footprints were left unteachable in his memory. He felt a sweet revolt burning inside him. His feelings were complaining, but its repetition in his mind was unbearable. His thoughts were bribing each other. His head felt like a black hole, absorbing everything, but performing in existence. He refused the faith of being a breathing collection among others. The world of words faded in him and threatened to leave him. His brain was playing tricks. Every day and some nights he confronted his own mind, unknowing that the repetitive monolog would never get tired. Over and over, until he would give up his side of speaking. The negotiation with his brain was suffocating him. He fought until he had no more words. Literally.
The brain stroke had left him with language impairment. He was left with not many choices. If he had to give up something this was the least of his nightmare’s collection. Although he knew he had no power in any decision, his brain was a universe in its own, he still refused to be just a breathing species. The battle was there to stay. He already accepted that. It lived and breathed in his body as a parasite. But his thoughts were there, impact and strong. He could think, imagine, dream, as beautiful as before. That was his winning card.
‘There are hundreds of words defining “love” he thought, maybe one will escape unnoticed’- he dared to hope.
He didn’t want to be the guy that never said the word “love”. For months he began practicing the sound, not much as vocal but as thinking it will sound. How the word “love” sounded in memory? Did anyone ever even ask that question before? – he thought. The unspoken sound of “love”, was hidden in his memory. Unfortunately, he realized that the recall was never with his own sound but rather of another person. He had no recollection of his own sound of the word. He pitied himself. A secret that only he knew. His voice sound was silent in his memory. The realization of the emptiness was a cruel discovery.
He offered condolences to his own speech. Accursed Aphasia that left him without the word “love” forever. He yearned to hear his own phonetic. It wasn’t a selfish thinking but rather a mourning for his lost identity footprint. The individual DNA of his own word’s sound. “Love” was not there anymore. Only the meaning of it survived in his memory, the rest was disappeared leaving no traces. It was abstract to explain this to himself and rather impossible to the others.
“Speak to the air, bring it, bring it,” a girl told him once “the wind will bring it where you want it”. “If you can’t say it, sing it” – she added playfully. He realized, moments later, that he was going to sing for the rest of his life. / ‘l∨∧/
