“Have you seen the profound sadness peeking deep in these eyes?”
It’s 2:30am and I can still hear the argument between the sea and the shoreline. The ceiling looked darker than midnight. My head rests on my soft pillows and yet the sea breeze could still ruffle my hair. Its 2:30am, on my bed and yet I could still feel each grain of sand on my toes like gravel. My tongue recites worn down promises and clichéd narratives passed between lovers.
-and the everything stops-
The sea has grown silent, the wind no longer screams to me, each grain of sand stuck to my feet like dried concrete. It was also at that time I stopped speaking.
It was then I wondered, what if I stopped speaking the language of old flames?
I recall what made me speak it in the first place. I remember how those fingers of yours once spelt out my name in the wind; how you once told me all the songs you cherished and how they sing about you. I remember how your voice soothed this burning heart of mine, like how a lullaby enchants an infant to sleep. All those nights we couldn’t fall asleep and exchanged hearts for a moment’s respite, all those laughs, all those stares, I remember it all.
Even though my heart winces in pain as these memories butcher my veins, I know it is time for me to accept all these aching. I have grown tired speaking the words of dead sentiments and now I refuse to remain in this funeral home for so long. I have dwelt in 2am thoughts and it was now the time for a change in scenery.
It’s now 6am and the waves embrace the shores calmly. The sun rises drowsily from its overdue nap. The breeze caresses my hair as gentle as a baby’s breath. The sand on my toes feels like soft powder that could be blown away at any moment. My tongue fumbles newly formed verses and choruses, the complete opposite of its predecessor.
I decided it was not worth it to speak a dying language to keep it alive, it is worth more to give birth to a new one. One that won’t stay at 2am, but one that would be birthed at dawn and spoken till dusk and in vice –versa.