You let your voice out. But your words came out wrong. It exited your mouth like a rapid river trying to suck all the people happily playing in the water. You are so used on letting your voice be silenced by your fear. Then when it finally came out, your voice sounds like a piercing knife.
You let your voice be heard this time and then you quiver. You’re not so used with this kind of voice. You’re not so used on hearing it audibly. You wished you haven’t spoken at all.
You let your words came out. Like a song on its last song syndrome, happily then daunting then painful then it cannot stop you from feeling coward again. You let the words out, the words that made you up for the first 4 months of this year. You let the words out, the words you’ve been keeping to yourself since 2010.
And those words, from the past, it is like a phone ringing with an introvert holding it. It is haunting. It pierces. It slices. You said it will never haunt you again. But it did.
Those words finally came out and I am inside again. Rewinding what I’ve just said. Replaying the syllables and wanting it to be pushed back. But it can’t. Letting people know what you’ve been through, letting them have the glimpse of the chaos inside you… It is suffocating than freeing.
I’ve already mastered the art of being silent. Maybe this is it. My voice shouldn’t be heard after all.
When you are falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, did you ever really crash or even make a sound?