The taste of ‘eloquence’ is sweet as wine,
While ‘melancholy’ settles dark and deep.
These sounds and meanings intertwine
With memories I’ve gathered, mine to keep.
I learned that ‘ephemeral’ feels like snow?—
So beautiful, yet never meant to sleep
Upon the earth for long. I’ve come to know
That ‘solitude’ has weight, while ‘joy’ has wings.
Some words cut sharp, while others softly glow
Like ‘luminous’ or ‘hope’—the one that brings
A future into focus, clear and bright.
They mocked me for the comfort language brings,
As if my books were shields against the night.
They never saw how words became my sword,
My armor, and my beacon burning light
In darkness where I couldn’t see the shore.
Each poem a map to guide my trembling hand,
Each stanza teaching me to ask for more
Than silence in a world I didn’t understand.
So let me build cathedrals with my speech,
Construct new worlds from nothing but the grand
And humble letters that our teachers teach.
For in this life of chaos, noise, and strife,
The perfect word is always within reach?—
A bridge between your heart and mine, a knife
That cuts away pretense to find what’s true.
With language as my compass through this life,
I’ll find the words that finally lead to you.”
It takes her seventy-six seconds to recite each word with practiced clarity,and I don’t even breathe.
The syllables hang in the air between us, delicate and dangerous as glass figurines. I’m aware of everything—the slight tremor in her voice when she reaches the lines about armor, the way her fingers curl against her thigh on “trembling hand,” the perfect pause before “cathedral.”