I love words,
their satin texture,
their rich timbre–
tasty morsels–
carefully arranged
on a platter,
wetting my appetite.
Yet I understood,
how those words
failed you,
when you went,
to that place–
beyond euphoria
or magic’s magnificence.
I moved with you,
in your solitary dance–
a spectator
to illusive images,
inconclusive insights,
evocative emotions
which you tried to convey.
In the end, I knew.
Words were wasted,
lost in translation
in a language that
you solely understood,
not spoken or heard.
On that journey…
we each must travel, alone.
Chevvy's diary 