
Maybe I can’t!
Words are like my lifeboats, scattered all over the sea. Some keep me afloat, some drag me under, but they all belong to me. Giving one up feels like being told to choose between tea and coffee, cruel and unusual punishment.
But alright, let’s play. What word could I possibly surrender?
Maybe “fine.” That dreary, flat, polite nothing of a word. Someone asks how I am, and out comes “I’m fine.” What does it even mean? Fine china? Fine weather? Fine hairs on my chin I pretend aren’t there? It’s a placeholder, a coward’s word, a verbal plaster slapped on top of something that needs stitches. Imagine the liberation in giving it up: no more “fine,” just raw truth or mischievous exaggeration. “I’m glorious, thank you,” or “I’m a walking disaster, care to join?”
Or maybe I’d toss “sorry” into the bin. It slips out of my mouth like loose change. Sorry for breathing too loudly. Sorry for existing on the same planet as you. Sorry for not replying to your text within 0.5 seconds. What a waste of breath! Instead of “sorry,” I could start saying “you’re welcome.” Imagine the confusion, “You’re late again.” “You’re welcome.”
But truthfully, the word I really couldn’t live without is “maybe.” That little rascal of a word keeps doors open, makes room for rebellion, and refuses to commit. “Maybe I’ll do it, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be sensible, maybe I’ll set the place on fire (metaphorically, calm yourself 😂).” If you take “maybe” from me, you’d box me in. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s boxes.
So maybe I can’t give up a word after all. Maybe I’ll keep them all, especially maybe.
Mae 🧡

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