Words

We can see our sadness now. It surrounds us like ghosts in an old parlor, a constant reminder that words once spoken can never be retracted. As all creatures who turned on one another and then recoil, we try to maintain a balance, a semblance of civility. But the ghosts will not go away. Their shadows fall behind us and in front of us. We walk slowly for fear of falling into that dark night. I would say I do not believe in ghosts but it would do me no good; denial will not make them go. I feel them pressing upon me from every side, crushing me, invading me, possessing me even to the bone and marrow. Words. The grief of gall carries us on the current; its turbulence unrelenting. To speak is death. 

Both sides now

Facebook is not a safe place for two-faced people. For as sure as the night follows the day, both sides of their face will eventually be seen by all.