Words are powerful. They are often divine and filled with love and depth. Your eyes become soft as they are delivered from the lips of a friend, a lover, your child; or they’re printed on pages you can’t stop turning while your heart soars, what’s next? There are other times, however, when the sentences have been restrung, and these simple syllables have become laced with a far darker intent. There are times when words cut you like glass and the shards sometimes remain.
I often wonder why people ask about my personal life. Are they interested because they want to know me better, love me harder, or are they asking out of curiosity? Should I get over guardedness to open up to those walking beside me, or are they asking so that one night when they’ve had a drink too many my foibles and insecurities may be shared over a sticky table with those that want to be entertained?