Post Two Hundred and Thirty: Unspoken

I've had this word, unspoken, in my head for weeks. 

Unspoken. 

I don't know what to do with it. I don't really know what it might want from me. I've played with it, toyed with it as a concept and a tool, and I've let it sit and steep like a tea. 

unspoken. 

But where do you start, and how do you stop, when you're polishing stories like knives and forks and serving truths.  

I cringe at the noise of social platforms. I cringe harder at the irony of pointing it out when I contribute to the endlessly rising volume. Considered things, talk and text that fit a smooth narrative. Things that speak of a transparency, but through the lense of creation. Can something formed ever be free of shape? 

Here, I will speak to this, the picture says. 

This is something that you can talk to me about, I say into the screen. 

This is what I feel safe to share.

unspoken. 

There are things that I preference. That we preference. And this comes at a cost to the issues that cause us discomfort. That cause me pain.

I am slipping my fingers between the gaps in my thoughts and spreading them open like the threads of a long, thin knitted scarf.