February 5, 2016

Without a Name

On a rainy Wednesday afternoon we sat
face to face
finishing our coffee as time was finishing itself—
slowly, silently, without drawing attention, yet
with a certainty incomprehensible to humans
and their measurements and their science
and their philosophy.
                        Still, we sat, face to face,
on that rainy Wednesday afternoon talking
about sadness—or something like sadness,
though it could also be hopelessness, despair,
or even what some optimists would rather call
unripe happiness—while trying to drink
bitter coffee without letting its bitterness interfere
with the half-sorrowful, half-contemplative mood
of our friendly meeting.
            Time, like an instrumental tune playing
softly in the background, continued its course
without drawing too much attention to itself, and
we tried, oh we tried so very hard, to place the right
words on what we were feeling, on what we told each
other we were capable of feeling, yet had never
quite succeeded to name, to comprehend, to talk about
without having to trip on analogies.
            A few meters away from our table, a large
puddle of murky water reflected a swarm of mosquitos
that resembled the grey clouds high above while we,
still trying to finish our coffee while also attempting
to draw a  conclusion to our discussion,
suddenly fell silent,
so silent that silence gave us the tentative answer to our
sad question. Time and its nonchalance about authority
does not know how to give names to things, including
emotions, especially emotions that always seem to be
felt inaccurately.
            Maybe the strange sadness that constantly
makes our hearts ache stems from the absence of
words that could help us talk our way out of it. Or
maybe it comes from the fact that even time—Almighty
Time—cannot alleviate it.
            So on that rainy afternoon, as we sat face to
face with two empty cups on the table, we remained
silent. And time, still preoccupied with finishing itself,
granted us enough silence to wonder about what to call
the pain
that lingered on the tip of our tongue.