no more words

People who are very talkative are so full of themselves, so in love with themselves; the same is true for people who are very quiet. What is it that allows the self to be broken, to not think in terms of of, but in ways for?

you gave me a mirror,
so that when I looked at myself
I would think of you.
(after Rumi).

I don't have much else to say, and what difference would it make anyway. Words are not the thing. There were words spoken at the right time, in the right manner, and there were words that were lost, misplaced. In our haste we see everything in its contingent nature, not letting anything rest, take root, come to fruition.

At the right angle to each other there is no more room for words. But this second silence is a kinder space, one in which we see our thinner faces, as if we were looking back, with time on our hands, our names still a mystery to one another, the hours, the days, still wide and pale.