I notice that my lips are moving when I’m not talking. It’s happening more and more. I’m silently mouthing things to myself. It happens when I write. It happens when I walk down the street. And I’m not sure if it’s part of a greater issue. But that may be my paranoia talking.

I do wonder who it is I’m speaking with. I used to think I was speaking with one person. I wanted to feel like my words were reaching someone. And maybe they were. Now I don’t know where they’re going. They’re going out somewhere. I just don’t think they’re landing. 

Sometimes it feels like the words I say and things I think push people away. I’ve felt this for a long while. I used to try to curb what I’d say in order to keep people. I don’t anymore. I try not to be reactionary and I’ve built up enough of a filter at my age. But it’s not my job to make people agree with literally everything I say. If someone does that, I’ll find it odd. I just want to be able to say what I’m meant to say, and be done with it. And whoever likes what they hear can stick around until they don’t want to anymore.

I don’t know who it is I’m speaking to these days. Maybe it’s all just a whispering massage I give to myself. My own version of an ego stroke. Enjoying what I’m writing or saying even if there’s no one around to hear it. I would like someone to hear it one day. But maybe they won’t. What am I going to do, stop dead in my tracks? 

No. 

There’s plenty more words to share. Even as I did stop in my tracks to see a phrase in chalk on the sidewalk today: “Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment nul besoin de paroles.” In parenthesis: “Two hearts in love need no words.”

Maybe they don’t. And maybe I am. Perhaps that’s what this is all about.

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