My Heart's Memory

I long to share my thoughts with you, free from any control of logic or emotional anesthetic. Yet, to attempt to write of such things is to be paralyzed by the boundaries of language. Words are used to express intensities of thought, as a thermometer is used to gauge degrees of a fever. But that which is truly original cannot be named; what is emotionally incomparable is verbally inexpressible. Thus, speech is often futile, merely a decorative surface and we, as marionettes of our language, perform with detached heartstrings further exacerbating the ineffectiveness of our linguistic system.

Thus, it is when all dialogue has been suppressed, that I can most eloquently express myself, for my heart has no voice. The language of my soul cannot be spoken; it is without terms to decode my heartfelt affections. To write of such things would be but a mythic endeavor built up on the supposition that words exist to express my feelings.

In the face of these pristine emotions, I search for words charged with meaning to communicate my gratitude to you. Yet, with each endeavor, I become marred by the use of overblown rhetoric and inflated language. Tripping on my tongue, I am reduced to babbling. It is because of the lethargic and passionless use of imagery and the ease with which words are exploited, that they are readily negated and undervalued. The inadequacy of my convoluted statements continually betrays the poignant truth of my thoughts about you. Are not the majority of our fondest remembrances defined by experiences for which verbalization abandons us? What satisfaction is there in relating to you the richness of my heart, when empty phrases serve only as dull stars eclipsed by the brilliance of unadulterated wordless sentiment?

Thus, it grieves me that I cannot create for you a tapestry of beautifully woven words for written expression has always been the only unguarded conveyor of my affections.  It takes time and effort to learn to interpret the reserved silence of an individual. For this, you have an extraordinary talent. We have sat with only the sounds of your room filling our ears and though you did not attempt to read my mind, to you, my heart spoke clearly. From this, I am filled with comfort, though I breathe not a word; you perceive sound, you hear the innermost whispers of my soul and that is the lone place I can speak intimately and emotionally bare.

With you, I have experienced many things for the first time, perhaps none more profound as the transitory serenity of my mind and reincarnation of my heart that comes from the warmth of your gentle touch. Beleaguered by memories, I come to you filled with despair and you infuse hope, releasing me from my internal purgatory, washing away my wasteland of guilt. In knowing you, the sun has yet to nestle into the earth when I have not felt the strength of your support. My soul has never sat to feast on words with you when it did not feel wholly satisfied. Not a moment has past, since first we met, when my life has not been enriched just from knowing you. So now I end as I began, an infant of this language, struggling to express myself. Search as I have, I cannot find that vaulting word, the perfect metaphor, even a polished adage escapes me. For you, whom I adore, there is no cliché, no verbal symbol that would express all that your compassion means to me. I can find only these two old, worn out, raggedy words - thank you. With all that I am and all that I inspire to become, I thank you. All the tenderness you have shared with me will flourish eternally in the secret garden of my heart’s memory, where my love for you is always in full bloom.