When I refuse to speak and choose my silences, I know I am probably missing out on chats that otherwise could have happened. In a language, in a time, in an era, in a dialect, and most of all....in a common shared space....that is probably never going to happen again.
As in, this today, will not happen tomo. We might still talk tomo, but that will never fill the gap of today - to the hole of the (to)day.
This strange dichotomy bothers me. It does. I don't have good answers. I ponder on this. What did I lose today by not talking to you?
What did I lose today, by not writing a few more pages for that book which is brimming in my head? Tomo, I will catch up. Today though is gone. Like a long-lost tongue, like a floating butterfly, who is drifting, and will be gone in a few hours.
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