If you have to write down what I’ll say, then do so.
But don’t let my micro breaks of sipping my black coffee interrupt your train of thoughts while you let my words sink in, because you shouldn’t underestimate the simplicity of my words. You’ll recall your mistakes, but before you do, I ask you not to regret anything you had done, but to focus on your future actions.
I know you’re probably thinking: ”What does this old man with a worn out lab coat, messy hair and a cigar in his left hand have to tell me?”
I want you to understand the power of words, and the ripples that extend outward after what you once had to say.
Remember that woman with neglected hairdo and untidy clothes sitting on a bench somewhere while allowing time to pass her by without a single movement ? You stopped, and told her she’s beautiful. That woman was waiting for a single sign to prove that she was worthy to share oxygen with others, and if she would ever be noticed at all by anyone. She wasn’t looking for her prince charming, but she was only seeking recognition. She went back home with a smile so wide that everyone was wondering how her heart did not explode yet from the joy she felt. She went back home with a smile, her smile was so contagious that all her kids finally began to smile; something they haven’t experienced for a long while, because they always thought that they were the reason their mom was always working, always tired, always unhappy. So their mother smiled, and they thought maybe they were wrong after all.
Remember when you tossed your money at the man after checking our your grocery at the cashier? You shouldn’t have done that. He went back home, desperately having an unfulfilling meal and thought that maybe he was inferior after all, and maybe he did not deserve the first right acquired by all humans; respect. After all, isn’t he the reason why everyone arounds him seems to reflect his dad’s abusive behaviour in one way or another towards him? You killed the last bit of doubt he had, and you reminded him of his lonely closet nights where he resided in whenever he heard thunder. He remembered the feeling he used to have inside that closet of half clean clothes. He’d stay there for hours until the storms would finally quiet.
You might think that your scattered words are so insignificant that they can’t toss a person’s heart here or there, but what if they were? what if your words were the anticipated sign?
There’s an eternal outward ripple of words, affecting people in ways you can never imagine, and don’t you ever forget that.
© 2014 ALIA SULTAN