A picture is worth a thousand words. I’d rather have the pages. All folded up and carried around in my wallet. The wrinkles and creases don’t distort the beauty of what’s written, they add to it. You can feel the emotion. See it in the way the words were written. Ink smudged by a teardrop. Or perhaps the paper smells of perfume.
I digress. Sometimes my words fail to capture the image that’s in my head. The beauty of it is just too much to share. And so, my mind tricks itself by offering so many different alternatives to a word that would never work. I fail to recreate the wrinkle that forms at the top of your thigh as you bend your leg. Or the way that your lips slightly part and your eyes start to gleam when you’re taking it all in, when it’s a moment you want to remember forever. I’ll remember them, though. Painting a smile of my own when I do.
LITTLE TALKS 