Sometimes words fail me. No matter how much I think I have mastered the art of words, I am still unable to articulate the intricacies of failure. When I am standing in front of the mirror, running my fingers through my hair, attempting to tame it, I stand back and look at the way my fingers spasm in defiance. There is a fault, there is miscommunication.

Lately I think I am in my own world. Language constantly disappoints me. We rely too much on rational thought and language to express, to describe. Silence is underrated. The human touch is shunned.

But I know that when I put my head on your lap, a layer of strength was shed. A disclosure of denial. I was defenseless, childlike. When we allow that to happen, when we don’t uphold barriers, I notice that your face softens, and my voice loses its need to be heard.

I have always been angered with the sharp distinction between logic and emotion. When did logic become so favored, and why is it that only when the world stays on the outside, when we are in the dark, are we able to let our hard exteriors fall away? Vulnerability is a state of being that terrifies me, and I have heard so many people insist that it is a weakness, that it leaves you open to attack.

But after that night, vulnerability seems to be a good place. The silence confirmed it. Vulnerability is dependent on trust. I trusted you, and I wonder if you knew.

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