How naive to believe in words strong enough to hold off the rain, when the weakest words cause the storm…

Words have this small, almost invisible weight that we carry at our fingertips like someone handling shards of glass in the dark. We believe, in that crude illusion of those who want to save themselves, that a dike of well-washed phrases can hold back the downpour of the world. We want to lower the crest of the gale with polished nouns, as if grammar could challenge the tempest.

But it is a serious mistake. The rain, after all, is only the water that falls gently, obeying an old law of gravity and silence. The real damage—the kind that tears the skin from within and churns the soil of the chest—never came from the heavy shower outside. It is born from the smallest crack, from a crooked syllable, whispered unintentionally at the corner of the mouth.

It takes almost nothing. A fragile, helpless word, spoken at the wrong time. It is enough to make the ceiling collapse that we took years to build.

© Beatriz Esmer