Wondering if saying nothing is ever better than saying something that might hurt. The silence hurts anyway, there’s no escaping the hurt; but then there’s no way of cauterising the cut, because the reason to do it with is missing altogether. All you’re left with is a long list of why’s and no because.
You, over there! Yes, you, sitting there so silently, trying to convince yourself you can keep up the silent act (you know you never can for too long with me)! Not deciding is always easier than giving a straight yes or no, isn’t it? I know how that strategy goes, I’ve used it myself so often I’ve lost count. But not deciding means nothing else than a standstill, a loss of chances whizzing by while you’re stuck in an opaque sphere of yes and no’s interlaced so tightly that they won’t let one speck of light in.
I’ve always said it’s a paralysing sort of fear, one that makes you back off, prefer aloofness to actual involvement that might cause pain, disappointment and ask for more compromise than you’ve been accustomed to. Deny it all you wish, but it’s fear that holds us still. And silent. Courage makes us move, take risks and maybe even fall; and even that’s ok, because we can always get up, dust ourselves off and take another dizzying leap.
I haven’t lived long enough to have a lot of regrets. The ones I have all start with “not having…” done something, said another, kissed then, said hello another time. There’s no going back, no making up for the moments that passed me by while I sat idly trying to decide whether to budge or to keep hiding under the safe blanket of relative transparency. But I’m visible now. It’s a choice; one that will very likely get me hurt and bruised and scarred. At least those scars will be proof to me I’ve lived (and there’s no more regrets to be had) – on my own terms, not the ones decided by some random roll of dice.