Lost words

Every so often... it happens... they... the words... disappear. Not selective, not mute. Just gone, the words are gone, they don't plan to return. You can slow, you can search... but that doesn't mean they appear.

Go ahead, reach out, search for your sound. The color that escaped from your lungs, that were shaped through your lips and pressed with the tongue. Find them, if you can. Fail, because you can't.

Though English, Spanish, French, Hindi, the tongue continues to form shapes, the lips press words through their funnel, the lungs shoot air up the throat to begin the vibrations. Everything functions.

Except that it doesn't.

Silence roars out, defining in their lack of presence. Distracting, drawing attention, but not the type you're looking for. There is pity. Your lips are imposters. They move in a mimic of words that have given up, that no longer wish to leave the depths of your chest and vibrate through the free air.

Pen and paper, your last resort. But there is a lack of patience, no one wants to wait for the words to escape onto the page and travel through the light into their eyes.

The words are still lost in your throat, in your lungs, in the blood flowing through your veins and into the neurons of your brain.

The electricity doesn't make its way into your mouth, instead it stays in your brain, sending flashes of heat through your spine and into your body as irritation spikes and frustration grows.

Still no sound manages a whisper across your lips.