Language. Língua. Sprache. Idioma. Taal.
So many different words,
just one person.
That is the magic of language.
It’s someone we all have,
in some way shape or form.
It is someone whose power we all experience,
yet simultaneously someone whose power we do not all yield.
It is a path upon which we embark alone
And a destination at which we arrive alone.
However, it is a voyage which we experience together
It is imminent.
Always there.
Any and every word I whisper,
it listens.
It doesn’t just hear me.
It listens.
When I scream,
it does not cower away.
When my tears infiltrate my tongue,
It does not drown.
When I mumble incoherently,
it does not urge me to speak up.
It just listens.
Like a tape recorder,
whose battery never runs out.
I constantly hear its whirring.
It is always there.
But it does not aggravate me.
Instead, it serves as a source of comfort.
Like the hums of my mother before bedtime.
It hears my laughter.
It hears my joy.
It hears my pain.
It hears my tears.
It hears my distress.
It hears my anger.
But above all,
it hears me
Language is my best friend.
My sole companion.
That is my life.
