I love them. —words, that is. I love the taste as they roll off the tongue or emerge unbidden from the back of the throat, or, given the language, from some deeper part. Maybe a part when “duty,” among some younger circles, just another word for “shit” — morphs into “Pflicht.” Or maybe it’s the lovers’ dream where “I love you,” “te amo,” “Ich liebe dich,” stand aside for the soft two syllables of “Je t’aime.”

Perhaps millions of years from now, under the wearying eye of a fading sun, some living thing will find this speck of blue in the nothing. Perhaps they’ll linger on the dust of the Coliseum, marvel at “The Garden of Earthly Pleasures” this place once was. Who knows? Our visitor would know nothing of our bloodlust, our greed sparking the fuse it’s already primed. But — insect or mammal, bird, fish, or something truly “alien” to our limited minds, they will find words. Somehow, somewhere, whether in a jar preserved in a forgotten cove or scored too deeply into the earth to be washed away by the tides’ vicissitude, words will endure. Our visitor won’t understand them, the symbols at wrong angles signifying nothing. Yet a reminder that here we stood. We tried. We gave entropy the middle finger. We went quietly to our end.

But our words will endure.

~ by Benji on September 27, 2013.

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