Weight Of A Wor(l)d

The weight of a word often repeated in passing, is only felt in certain instances of obscene focus on each sound the syllable ekes out of our mouth when we utter it, like a sudden press of a machine onto an unnamed feeling, squeezing out its essence, just by giving it form on our lips. Its existence and meaning, unquestioned by the mere averageness and over usage of the word, trapped in insincere, bland sentences, the repetition with which it falls on jaded ears, rendering it incapable of ever being worn on a tongue in all its glory until that one moment, when all is laid bare and your ears have a straight route to your heart, that this common word, this regular sentence pierces the very essence of your being, and you find yourself facing something raw and unfamiliar in the trappings of a familiar skin. You stare at it, caught in surprise, like a deer in headlights, and neither moves for the eternity of a single moment and then you touch it and it explodes into familiarity and commonness again, but not before there is a new light shed on that sentence, that word, that “I respect myself”.

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