Palavras

Palavras, jogadas ao vento, sopradas ao pe do ouvido, deixadas em um papel, sao apenas palavras, mas as vezes sao piores que uma arma e machucam mais do que qualquer olhar.
Don't say what you might not deliever, don't say what you might want but will not accomplished, don't say anything more than you need. Silent might be the best thing to do sometimes.

B. I believed in your words, that's why I kept on trying
Now I am only left with broken words that gave me such pain. More than anything you ever did to hurt me.

Now I just want silence, no more promises, no more believing in words.

clipped from soundarya.wordpress.com “Words” by Anne Sexton Words Be careful of words, even the miraculous ones. For the miraculous we do our best, sometimes they swarm like insects and leave not a sting but a kiss. They can be as good as fingers. They can be as trusty as the rock you stick your bottom on. But they can be both daisies and bruises. Yet I am in love with words. They are doves falling out of the ceiling. They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap. They are the trees, the legs of summer, and the sun, its passionate face. Yet often they fail me. I have so much I want to say, so many stories, images, proverbs, etc. But the words aren’t good enough, the wrong ones kiss me. Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren. But I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair. - Anne Sexton