focus and forget

if there were a language that i knew you all didn't know, i would speak it, type all of these words in it, and tell you simple things that sounded beautiful.  you'd admire the sound, the collection of letters, the visual flow, the feeling that i truly wanted to convey something to you, yet was unable to. 

i would explain your fears in ways that trivialized them, you'd stuff them in your bottom lip and spit them out, you'd grow them and pluck them as soon as they appeared.  i'd put words in aluminum and watch you consume them, and after you easily fell asleep i'd collect them, recycle them, so when you woke you wouldn't have to deal with them.  i'd build paragraphs that you kept in shoe boxes in the closet, that you tried to forget but couldn't, that your partner was now slightly scared of, that you meant to throw out when you moved-in last year but couldn't.  the punctuation wouldn't even be recognizable or distinguishable, but you'd still keep it in your wallet, put it in your coffee every morning until you started to feel a dependence on it.  just reading it would make you space out in the shower and perhaps even sit down until the water was uncomfortable and luke warm, hearing it would calm you while standing in line.  i'd be speaking it to you and only you, you'd know this through tone, through innate spacial cues, through eye contact, through what you used to think your understanding of love was when you first understood the feeling of 'love'. 

it'd speak with statistical reason and confidence.  like if you heard that it had happened 95% of the time given the same circumstances, and you'd feel comfortable that it would happen again if you wanted it to right now.  and you wouldn't have to over think it, though, you'd just know that confidence without the numbers muddying it.  the language would be the texture of oil at rest, of newly dried concrete, with the smell of fresh cedar and the crush of dried pine cone.  it'd be nose to neck.  i could speak it without hesitation, i could speak it without thoughts of recourse, i could speak it without inhibition of personality, i could speak it without any kind of offense, i could speak it free of stutter, and steady of faith.

but i don't know that language, and if i did i'd probably just take it for granted.  it'd be a commercial on mute, a crumpled up receipt, a shiny nickel on the sidewalk.