her mother would say the words so often that it almost became her exhale. exhausting their power with frequent repetition.
her father would skim over the words like a little boy skips stones over a wide, glassy bed of water. he infused them with humor, an uncomfortable utterance.
today the kids are nonchalant with the words. they use them when someone did them a favor, got them out of a sticky situation… they use them to pay homage to food, technology and other material deities. “oh my GOD… (insert words here in valley girl voice!)”
she honors the words though she’s used them a plenty, she bears their flag with honor, holds a space for their depth in every molecule of her essence. she prays and makes sacrifices to their divinity…
once she said the words first to a man. only once. yet he couldn’t find the courage to reply…. he withheld the words like . yet she needs the words. the words give her peace. if the world ends tomorrow would he wish he said them? she wonders. she wants to retract the vulnerable, accented words because she’s so exposed now… uncovered heart beating. but it’s too late now. she can only hope that one day he’ll return her sentiment.
